


Seven Days

by Lone_wolf625



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Trauma, Set in Modern ATF Universe, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 61,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16122911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lone_wolf625/pseuds/Lone_wolf625
Summary: They are the best at what they do... but so are the bad guys.





	1. It Begins...

**Author's Note:**

> There will be fairly graphic descriptions of violence. If this isn't your thing... sorry. But in the real world, the bad guys don't say please and thank-you... and the good guys don't always walk away with bandaids.

_ It begins: _

 

They grabbed Vin late on Friday night, just four days following the big bust. It had taken nearly six months of preliminary work, investigation and set-up, followed by weeks of undercover work by both Ezra and Nathan, worming their way into the graces of Roberto DeLeon and his minions in an effort to recover the shipment of stolen military grade weapons  the group was said to be moving out of the U.S. and into cartel hands. The team had finally brought the entire operation to completion with a clandestine raid on DeLeon’s local base of operations at a nearby nightclub. They thought it was over.

 

While they’d been successful in locating a portion of the weapons, mostly due to DeLeon’s paranoia and ego, convinced that no one would challenge him on his “home territory”, Team 7 had unfortunately been unable to get the head man himself. Worse still, the manifest provided by Army CID indicated that there were still several crates of RPGs and possibly two FGM-148 Javelins remaining unaccounted. 

 

Still, the bust had been considered a relative success. DeLeon was on the run and almost all of the stolen inventory had been recovered. Best of all, the fledgling gunrunner and home grown terrorist  was likely to be on the outs with the cartel and most of his other customers. 

 

Or that’s what the team thought as they wrapped up their reports and celebrated their hard work and victory in their usual style. 

 

The weekend was upon them and after nearly six months, they each could finally look forward to some actual downtime; relaxing with no fear of a sudden call out or other need related to the case. The seven called it a day early, ditching out of the office and meeting at the Saloon. Pitchers of beer were filled and emptied in turn as the men unwound, socializing with lighthearted talk and teasing banter that signified their special bond. 

 

Ezra was the first to depart. His need to “get away” a typical response after being entrenched in one of his alter-personae during the case. The guys never questioned where he went or what he did while he was gone; assuming that Standish’s ultra-luxurious tastes accounted for for his destination and itinerary. They just knew that when he returned, it was usually looking very refreshed, especially well-groomed and fastidious, and generally with one or two new words in his vocabulary and tailor-made suits in his closet. 

 

Nathan bid his farewells next, citing matrimonial responsibilities to Raine. The guys understood, even if none of the rest of them - except Chris - really had any first-hand experience with a long term relationship; let alone having a spouse waiting for them at home every night. While the medic rarely complained about the lost time with his beautiful wife, and Raine, for her part, seldom outwardly expressed her fears over the dangers her husband faced on the job, the two were sure to reinforce their deep connection every chance that presented. 

 

The rest of the team watched the couple with an oft-envious eye. To the man, the other five each had dreams of love, family and home; even if they had no presently tangible chances at  _ Happily Ever After _ on the horizon. 

 

Around 11:30, Chris drained the last of the beer in his mug and informed the remaining men that unlike the rest of them, he still had to wrap up a few details. Work for him on the DeLeon case was not complete until he finished meeting with the suits at CID and INSCOM. That meant an early morning tomorrow and long prep throughout the weekend in anticipation of lengthy closed-door sessions come Monday. They teased him good-naturedly, mocking his plight with unsympathetic comments about his rank and pay and even telling him that the evening’s bill for drinks and bar food had been put on his credit card. Larabee gave his men a glare that held little of his characteristic ire, but quickly grinned as he departed, threatening payback. 

 

Josiah exited on Chris’ heels, actually walking out with the team leader citing a weekend focused on clearing his head and spirit. For Sanchez, that could mean anything from sequestering himself away with a bottle of homemade Mezcal listening to Buddhist chants and fasting, to roaming Denver’s streets serving the homeless or any of the dozens of street people with mental health issues who found themselves left out on society’s fringes. He called it penance, his teammates called it kindness, generosity and mostly referred to it as Josiah’s unselfish soul. In any event, the big man wouldn’t be seen or heard from until early Monday morning when he’d show up at their office with a wide, toothy grin and no signs that he’d ever had the weight of their demanding job on his shoulders. 

 

The remaining three Team 7 members, including the youngest of the group, looked at each other as the earlier din of conversation seemed to have died with the others absence.  Vin sighed and looked at his watch, he wasn’t really tired, but truth told, the idea of just going home and collapsing on his couch to watch t.v. held a certain mindless appeal. 

 

“So whaddya say, let’s get this weekend started off right?” Buck offered with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.  

 

JD eagerly nodded, downing his remaining half-glassful of beer in a long gulp. 

 

“I’m game,” he announced. “It's just too early to call it a night now. Besides, this is the first weekend we’ve had off in forever. C’mon’, Vin. How ‘bout you?”

 

Tanner smiled wanly but shook his head. “Nah, boys. Temptin’ as it might be, I think I’ll pass.”

 

JD rose in protest. “Aww, c’mon, Vin,” he pleaded, tugging on the sharpshooter’s arm. “You can’t leave me alone with Buck. He’ll dump me at the first sign of some blonde in a skimpy skirt.”

 

Vin chuckled. “Well, JD, I’m guess’n you could always put a skimpy skirt on yer’self. Them magazine’s always say the best way to keep your man’s eye from straying is to give ‘em what he likes.”

 

The young agent punched his slightly older friend in the upper arm while Buck howled in laughter. 

 

“Sorry, JD, but I don’t think that even if you wore a mask that looked like Scarlett Johansson, the minute you put on a skirt and somebody saw them bony, hairy legs of yours… as Ezra says… all bets would be off.” 

 

“Yeah, like you’d ever have a chance with Scarlett Johansson under any normal circumstances,” JD threw back. 

 

“Oh son… I’ve had better than Scarlett,” Buck replied mysteriously. 

 

JD snorted and Vin snickered, enjoying the usual banter between the two roommates and surrogate brothers. 

 

“Well, as excitin’ as it is to hang out and watch you two make short work of the female population in Denver, I think I’d rather get re-acquainted with my couch and cable channels,” Vin announced, pushing up from the tall bar chair and stretching.

 

“Seriously, Vin? After spending all this time on the DeLeon case and you’re gonna veg out in front of the t.v?”

 

Tanner nodded and reached for his jacket on the back of the stool. “Yep, jus’ me and the Duke… and if’n I’m lucky, maybe Doc and Ringo and later there’ll be good’ ol’ Josh Randall.”

 

JD cast him a blank gaze that resembled the look of a confused puppy. Buck saved the day, explaining to the young agent that Vin was referring to a bunch of western characters. 

 

“You change your mind, we’ll be at Mile High,” he offered. “And tomorrow, we talked about headin’ out to Red Rocks for that concert… if you want to come?”

 

Vin nodded his appreciation of the invitation. “Thanks, Bucklin. But I think I got the weekend covered.”

 

The final two team members watched their quiet friend leave, his slight form disappearing like a wisp of smoke through the door, enveloped by the darkness outside. They had no idea that it would be the last they’d see him. 

  
  



	2. Day 1

 

 

He came to feeling like he always did when he work up in the hospital; that fuzzy, disoriented sort of haze that sucked his consciousness down like thick mud on his boots. Vin reached for his eyes, wanting to wipe away at whatever was obscuring his vision, but his arms seemed restricted, unwilling or unable to respond to the commands his brain was sending. 

 

A spark of panic ignited, but he stamped it down. Whatever had happened to him, his inability to move was likely the result of either injury or medication. Being no stranger to either, he was all too accustomed to the effects of opiates and sedatives. 

 

Redoubling his efforts, Vin attempted to move his legs and feet. Better to take inventory now, figure out how bad he’d fucked up and what the resulting recovery time was going to be before he had to start negotiating his discharge with some dictatorial doctor - or worse - Larabee and the rest of the boys.

 

He started by wiggling his toes. As best he could tell, all ten “piggies” seem to obey. He wasn’t even fazed by the fact that his feet were bare, what else would they be in the hospital after all? 

  
Next, Tanner concentrated to shift his legs. He wasn’t going for much and he vaguely noticed that his body position was not fully supine, but his head was simply too muddled to make much of that discovery. Sucking in a deep breath, he tried harder, could even feel the strong muscles in his upper legs tense and cord up in response, but neither appendage budged more than an inch. 

 

The panic was back again, reignited and fully aflame with a bit of gasoline tossed on for good measure. He knew he wasn’t paralyzed, the subtle movement in his hands and toes had discounted that frightening possibility. But restrained, yeah, that seemed fairly likely considering his inability to fully move. 

 

He’d woken up this way before, broken and confused in a hospital, restrained because he’d been less than a cooperative patient at some point during his treatment. Still, it had been a long time since Vin had required such extreme measures. Provided one of the team was with him, and the docs didn’t get carried away with pumping him full of the heavy stuff, he generally managed to keep from needing a straight jacket or from crawling on the ceiling. 

 

So why was he restrained? Unless none of the boys knew he was here?

 

Vin strained to see in the overwhelming darkness that seemed to surround him. 

 

“Chris?” he called out, his voice tentative, fear barely hidden just below the surface. 

 

There was no immediate reply and the injured agent held his breath, quieting so that he could extended his hearing and pick up on the sounds around him. There were no immediate hospital noises, at least not any of the ones Vin was used to hearing upon waking up. No beeps, no whooshing, no overhead paging or soft chattering of staff. 

 

And then there was the smell. Inhaling deeply, the dazed agent noticed the lack of disinfectant, Instead, there was a distinct odor of mustiness and mold, even hints of rotten wood and old solvents. Wherever he was, Vin knew instinctively it couldn’t be a medical facility. 

 

Panic ratcheted up to full-blown fear and Tanner struggled against the restraints calling out once again. 

 

“Chris? Buck?”

 

There was laughter just behind him, deep and unrecognizable, and Vin strained to turn his head toward the sound. Like his arms and legs, his head was also similarly bound. Realization struck at that moment; he wasn’t in a hospital - he  _ was  _ being held. The bindings he felt encircling his wrists and ankles at first resembled soft restraints, but now that he was becoming more alert and aware of his surroundings, Vin could feel a  more coarse material that signified something like nylon climbing rope coiled about him. 

 

“It won’t do any good to struggle, Agent Tanner. I can assure you that you are quite effectively secured.”

 

Vin flinched as the voice suddenly spoke right by his ear. In the relative darkness, he’d been caught unawares by the presence of the unknown newcomer. 

 

“Where am I?” The weakened marksman asked.

 

The disembodied voice chuckled. “So predictable. But then, I should expect nothing more from pathetically trained federal dogs. Tell me, are you housebroken?”

 

Tanner ignored the jibe but he did note the slight accent of the speaker. “Who are ya?”

 

He could feel the movement as the speaker shifted in front of him, could almost detect a shadow of a form just a few feet away. Vin squirmed, desperate now to gain any bit of intelligence to the identity of his captor or his whereabouts. 

 

“I can assure you Agent Tanner, that fighting against the restraints will only result in you wasting energy, And believe me when I say… you’re going to need all the reserves you can call forward to endure what is in store for you over the course of the next several days.”

 

Vin had been on the receiving end of threats before, it wasn’t a new game for him. But there was an ominous edge to the man’s warning, the cold, calculated manner with which he calmly advised the captive held no hint of fear or concern that he was threatening a federal agent. Either he had nothing to lose or he thought he held the upper hand; either way, Vin knew he was dealing with someone who could be extremely dangerous. 

 

“So whadya’ want with me? Are ya’ gonna clue me in or ya’ just all about druggin’ me and holdin’ me for whatever deal ya’ got in mind,” Vin asked, forcing calm into his voice as he settled his body and began to take stock of his environment. 

 

“Bravery! Now that’s the spirit, Agent Tanner. Let’s see just how long you can maintain that façade. I’m giving you 96 hours. After all, you were an Army Ranger; made of tougher stuff and all.”

 

“If you think all this talk is gonna scare me, well…”

 

“Oh no, Agent Tanner, I don’t think much of anything is going to scare you. I’m not counting on trying to scare you. I didn’t bring you here to try to scare you. I know that wouldn’t do any good and even at best, I couldn’t hope to accomplish that in a timely enough manner to achieve my end goal,” the disembodied voice explained. 

 

“Then what?” Vin shouted back, losing patience just slightly. 

 

“You’re just a game piece. In fact, you just happened to be the easier of the game pieces for me to acquire. It was a toss-up really - if you must know. You or your younger teammate, Agent Dunne, would have sufficed. I had considered Agent Jackson. You know, playing the married, father, card… but let’s face it, your entire team will rally around saving one of the kid brothers. Isn’t that so?”

 

Vin thrashed against his bindings, bucking hard against the restraints that held him tightly to the rigid seat. 

 

“You sonofabitch! Who are you? Turn on some lights so I can see, ya’ fuckin’ coward,”

 

His unknown captor laughed and drew closer. The Team 7 sharpshooter recoiled when he felt a cool hand reach out and touch his bare cheek, gently caressing it as though he were a small child…

 

_ … or a lover.  _

 

Vin swallowed thickly as the bile threatened to rise from his stomach.

 

“Ahhh, my poor Agent Tanner, but the lights have been dimmed slightly for your comfort. We’ve instilled some special drops in your eyes which have both dilated your pupils and paralyzed the muscles which allow you to focus. It would be incredibly painful for you to be subject to normal lighting… ahhh, but if you really wish to see where you are and who I am… far be it for me to deny you.”

 

Vin could hear the snap of fingers, suddenly sensed the presence of others in the space along with him and his mysterious captor as they acknowledged the order. His heart sped up as he heard movement happening behind him; the bodies of at least two or three others scuttling about. He hated that he had been oblivious to their presence before now, fearful of what they could do outnumbering him in his present condition. 

 

There were a series of several clicks and suddenly the room was washed with a ultra-white blast of light. Vin bit back a scream of pain as his eyes were seared by the blinding light. His widely dilated pupils forced to absorb the illumination of dozens of overhead high bay lights beamed a million watts of pure agony into his retinas. 

 

His hands shook, fingers flexing open and closed as he tried futilely to reach his face and provide additional cover. Crimping his eyelids tightly closed did little to block out the offending brightness and the tears that streamed down his face did nothing to reduce the pain. 

 

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you, Agent Tanner, “ his kidnapper taunted. “Look at you, falling apart already… and we haven’t even begun to get acquainted. Hmm… maybe I should revise my earlier prediction. Perhaps you won’t even make it past the first 24?”

 

“F-fuuck… y-you…”Vin stuttered out. He thrust forward his chin defiantly, even though his vision remained completely dark. 

 

The resulting laughter both annoyed and angered him further. Vin hated being incapacitated, but he despised even more that the unknown captor seem completely at ease with having kidnapped a Federal Agent. 

 

“W-wh..at..ev’r ya’ … got planned...m’ t-team… s’ gonna… nail yer’... ass,”

 

Warm breath caressed his ear and Tanner couldn’t help the involuntary flinch away; except with his neck held firm by the climbing rope, his retraction was minimal. 

  
“Your  _ team _ , Agent Tanner, was fairly ineffectual the last time we met. I’m betting that this time, and with me holding considerable leverage, the outcome will be no different.”

 

“DeLeon?” Vin queried. The slight accent and the cultured tone suddenly made sense, but the marksman struggled to comprehend why the criminal overlord would risk his freedom by such a blatant act as this?

 

It was Vin’s turn to laugh now, even if he didn’t really feel the humor of the situation.

 

“Gotta tell ya’...” he fumbled between gasps of breath and snickering. “Yer’ the dumbest sonofabitch… I ev’r run across.”

 

“Oh, and how is that, Agent Tanner?” DeLeon replied, his voice lacking its previous calm and mirth. “Considering that I easily abducted you… and I’m about to enact a well-executed…”

 

“Good god, do ya’ ev’r get tir’d of listen’n to yourself?” Vin interrupted. “I know I sure am…” he mumbled under his breath. 

 

He could nearly hear the anger begin to boil within the gunrunner’s veins.     
  


“Why you…” 

 

Yep, he had perfected a similar effect on Chris Larabee. And Lord knew how he could drive the suits back at command to want to shoot him with his own weapon at times. He pushed on.

 

‘See, way I figure it… you’re play’n with fire… hell, you’re play’n with reg’lar TNT between whatev’r game you’re gonna run on Team 7 and then hav’n the cartel hunt’n you down for all those weapons you can’t deliver now. Boy, I just can’t ‘magine how you even sleep at night, for worry’n ‘bout who’s gonna unload a magazine in your skull first.”

 

Tanner took a deep breath when there was no immediate response from the felon. When the silence continued, the sharpshooter felt a niggle of worry begin to develop. 

 

Never one to know when to just shut up when it was good for him, Vin turned the screwed a little tighter. 

 

“Whas’ wrong, Robbie? Did I strike a homerun there?” 

 

Still blinded, he could feel the man draw closer. Despite his lack of vision, Vin felt less helpless, more in control of the situation even though he was still fully restrained.

“A home run, eh? Yes, let’s see about that…” DeLeon hissed. 

 

Movement around the sharpshooter was swift and rough as bodies suddenly rushed in on him, hands grabbing at his bound wrists and ankles. He tried to coil, waiting to spring the moment he felt the rope release, but they were quick and ready for him, holding onto the loop around his throat and controlling him, even pulling him upward. 

 

He choked against the hold, gagging as he struggled for air, trying but unable to fight against them as they pulled him backwards.

 

“So cocky, so self-assured. You think you know? You think you have the answers? But you do not. At least, I’m betting you don’t know the situation as well as you think you do, Tanner,” DeLeon raged at his side. 

 

Vin felt his body hoisted upward, held aloft by the rope around his neck and new ones stretching his wrists wide in opposite directions. His naked feet barely skimmed the concrete floor; he couldn’t stand up if he wanted. If he wasn’t careful, his weight would fall from his wrists and be supported by his neck, effectively hanging him. 

 

“S-s soo … easssyy… t’... b-be… b-b..ig...m-man...d--d..on...ge’... ye’r… h-h-h..an’s… d-d-ir..ty…” he rasped. 

 

DeLeon was laughing again. He patted Vin’s cheek then with a violent tug of his hands, ripped open the shirt that had been covering the agent’s upper body. Hanging as he was, Vin swung like a pendulum. 

 

“I can do whatever I want, Agent Tanner. Something you and your team is going to learn very soon... “

 

Vin’s jeans were torn from him next, leaving the cold chill of the warehouse to rip into his flesh like the sharp bite of a thousand paper cuts. 

 

“By tomorrow, your team, and your SAC, Agent Larabee, will begin to know just how serious I am and just who they are dealing with. You better hope they take me more seriously than you have.”

 

The beating began as they usually do, two men taking turns delivering blows to his abdomen and face with no particular goal other than to inflict pain. But after a while, they coordinated their attack and started to focus their hits in places that caused real damage. Vin took multiple hits to his flank when one of DeLeon’s men went behind him and concentrated his attack on Tanner’s right kidney. And the other, well, he was an even bigger asshole, sporadically spacing his punches just above Vin’s groin so that the sharpshooter never knew when the hit was going to stray south and catch him in the lower abdomen or worse. 

 

“Not so talkative now, Agent Tanner?” DeLeon taunted. 

 

Vin held his tongue, mostly to prevent the vomit from flying up his throat and out of his mouth. But had he spoke and just before he lost consciousness, the only thought running through his mind was just how wrong DeLeon had it.    
  


And he quirked a tiny smile, blood seeping from the corner of his lips. 

 

Tomorrow was Sunday… Nobody would be in the office till Monday morning. Nobody would miss him till at least then.

 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who care... this is NOT a WIP. It's completed and subsequent chapters will be posted at regular intervals... I'm just an editing addict...


	3. Day 2

_ DAY 2 _

  
  


Sunday morning came with bright sunshine and the promise of a beautiful day to be outside. Chris Larabee stared wistfully out the window of his kitchen as he slowly sipped his fourth cup of coffee. He’d started early, taking care of the horses’ needs and nearly deciding to just bail on all the work waiting for him to return to in trade for saddling up and going for a long ride. But instead, responsibility overruled and he reluctantly went back inside to his office.  

 

Now, two hours later, he was taking a break from what had amounted to staring at a computer screen. The agent had been working almost non-stop on the post-action reports from the DeLeon bust. Normally, there wouldn’t have been such a rush to get everything completed, but Director Travis had notified him late Friday that because of the involvement of military munitions, several other agencies including Army intelligence, were fairly hot to resolve the matter. 

 

Chris didn’t really care, except he hated being pushed around by CID and the military bigwigs that thought things got done just because they issued an order. Larabee was all-too familiar with the “military way,” having spent over a decade in the teams. It wasn’t that he hated his time as a SEAL, more that he became disillusioned with the bureaucracy that dictated policy. 

 

Sometimes, he felt the same way about what they were doing now. 

 

Except, the Team 7 leader knew better. He had faith in the six men that worked their asses off to create one of the best arrest, confiscation and closed case records in the western region. Those same six men who also were as tenacious when it came to pursuing the criminal element were just as passionate at watching each other’s backs both on and off the job. He couldn’t ask for a better group of men to work with and he certainly couldn’t have found a better bunch of friends and brothers. 

 

Chris smiled warmly as thoughts of his team filled his mind. He knew deep down that he would have long ago burned out and likely quit - or worse- ate a bullet doing this job, if it hadn’t been for the motley group of rejects that he’d collected to make up Team 7. And misfits they were. Individually, they each had a special talent that made them stand out among their peers, but that talent had  _ always _ come with strings attached. 

 

The SAC knew that his boys ran a thin line between getting the job done and following the rules. He knew the higher ups had turned a blind eye several times to the rules they bent and it was only because they never outright broke them that the official hammer hadn’t come down on them or him. 

 

There was a time that Larabee would have been a staunch rule-follower; even was from time-to-time now. But somewhere along the line, he came to realize that the rules merely handcuffed them. The  _ BadGuys _ didn’t obey the laws or follow any code of ethics,  and they certainly didn’t follow any rules. Hadn’t he learned that first hand when he buried what was left of his wife and son?

 

Chris scowled and dumped out the remainder of his coffee, cold now and bitter in his mouth. He needed to get back to his work focusing on Roberto DeLeon and the recent bust Team 7 had conducted on the up and coming local gunrunner. 

 

They’d had DeLeon under surveillance over a year ago when rumors had surfaced that the rising businessman was making noise in Denver drug operations. Not much of their concerns, he crossed their radar because the DEA boys knew he was trying to make his way into creating ties with the Sinaloa Cartel out of Mexico. Cartel action also meant weapons involvement and that meant  BAFTE involvement. 

 

Lately, their plate had been full. Between the usual caseload of weapons trafficking by small-time gangs trying to rise in the ranks and the increase of illegal movement by west-coast bikers, not a week had gone by where they and the other teams, hadn’t either been planning or executing a takedown. 

 

Added to their workload, now they also had the recent rise in potentially terrorist-related weapons activity. Chris didn’t think that the rash of mass-casualty shootings was any indication of a greater ISIS threat, at least not like some in the media wanted to make it out. But he’d been around long enough, both in the military and now in the agency, to know that there was plenty of opportunities for possible terrorists to get any sort of weapon and reap any amount of havoc that they intended. If they couldn’t control or keep better tabs on people like DeLeon, how in the world were they supposed to account for either foreign or domestic radicals with nothing more than big body counts on their agendas?

 

Larabee sighed and glanced at the clock above the sink. It was nearly noon. 

 

“Close enough,” he grumbled, turning toward the refrigerator at his right. Pulling open the door, he paused, briefly reconsidering the bottles of beer on the top shelf. He really still had several hours of work to do in preparation for tomorrow’s meeting, but relaxing for a while and watching the Rockies game couldn’t hurt. Right?

 

He snagged a bottle, considered the Tupperware container of chili and decided that the bag of pretzels sitting on top the refrigerator was less immediate hassle. 

 

Strolling into the den, he dropped bonelessly into his well-worn recliner with another sigh. Clicking on the t.v. with the remote, he scanned until he found the baseball game, grunting as he saw that the Colorado team was already down by several runs to the visiting Cubs. 

 

“Fucking Lester…” he groaned. “So, much for this season.”  

 

The off-duty agent tilted back the beer, savoring the cold beverage. Following it up with a handful of snacks, the salt satisfied his taste buds, but did little for the hollow feeling in his stomach. He sat there for several minutes, absently munching while keeping half his attention on the game. 

 

Some days it was nice to just kick back and relax, enjoying the peace and quiet. Mostly, though, he hated the quiet. Quiet gave him too much time to think, too much time to listen to the voices that liked to talk to him, and too much time to just sink - no wallow - in memories. If he was honest, Chris preferred staying busy and barring that, he liked hanging out with one of the guys from his team; usually Vin. 

 

No one would believe him if he ever admitted it, and besides, he’d spent most of his life perfecting the whole “badass loner” persona, but truth told, the worst times in his life had been when he was by himself. In fact, he’d managed to always surround himself with people; first in college, with lots of friends and always plenty of female companionship, then the military, with a barracks full of guys or even later with his SEAL unit. 

 

Even after leaving the Navy, he had Sarah, then Adam; at least for a while. There had never been a darker time in his life than when he’d been alone following the loss of his family. Yet, looking back, he hadn’t truly been alone. It just took him a while to recognize the family that had been there for him all along. 

 

As much as he bitched at them, as much as they gave him migraines and gray hair, and as much as he spent more than a few extra hours defending their less than by-the-book behavior or tactics; the six of them were his brothers in every sense except blood. 

 

“Probably got that covered by now too,” Larabee mused with a smirk, reflecting on all the times one of the seven had been hospitalized over the past few years. 

 

The roar of the crowd caught his attention and he focused enough to see the replay of home run on the big screen. 

 

“It’s about time, Arenado!” he shouted at the t.v. “C’mon boys, let’s get back in this game.” 

 

Bottom of the third, there was plenty of time for the Rockies to make a comeback. And, Chris decided, plenty of time too for him to see if any of the guys wanted to come out and suffer along with him, watching when they didn’t. 

 

Fishing the cell from the pocket of his jeans, he scrolled down to the first speed dial and thumbed the call button. He listened as the call rang several times before it went to voicemail. 

 

“This is Tanner, you know what to do at the beep.”

 

Chris took a breath. “Hey Vin, thought you might want to come out and watch the game… I’ll spring for the pizza and beer. Give me a shout back if you’re interested.”

Ending the call, Larabee frowned. He’d try calling the others, minus Nathan and Ezra who departed on Friday with fairly strict “do not disturb” rules in place, and then maybe call Vin again. Most likely the sharpshooter was either hanging out with Buck and JD, or he was doing something for one of his neighbors. 

 

Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, Chris tried Buck next. His old friend picked up the call on the second ring, his voice as cheery as ever. 

 

“What’s up, old dog?” Wilmington called out. “Thought you was tucked away for the weekend doing homework for school?”

 

“Funny, Buck,” Larabee replied. “Nah, I got most of the after-action reports done and tomorrow is all about kissing CID’s ass anyway. They just don’t like that we managed to find their missing toys when they couldn’t.” 

 

“Yeah, well, don’t tell Vin I said this, but you know how it is…”

 

“Join the Army, see the world… Join the Navy, save the Army…” they both said together. 

 

Laughter filled the cell connection at the long-held joke, subsiding as Chris heard JD in the background asking what Buck was laughing at. 

 

“So seriously, Chris, what’s up? You need something?” the mustached agent asked as his humor finally diminished. 

 

“Nothing important, just checking to see if you guys wanted to come out, catch the game, kill some beer and maybe order some pizza?” 

 

“Aww damn, Chris. JD and I are headed out in about thirty. We’re hookin’... err… I mean, we’re picking up a couple of ladies we met the other night at Mile High and going out to Golden for this street fair.” 

 

Chris nodded to himself. “Hookin’ up, huh?” he teased. 

 

“Now that’s not what I meant… Misty and Lark are both artists. They’re going to be vending at the fair,” Buck stalwartly informed his friend and boss. 

 

Larabee chuckled. “Oh I just bet they are.” 

 

“Now Chris… these girls are _ very  _ talented. Just ask JD.”

 

The blond agent was fully laughing now, the double entendre just too obvious. 

 

“Oh, I’m just sure they are,” he agreed. “Look Buck, you just make sure you and the kid stay out of trouble. I don’t feel like driving out to Golden tonight.”

  
It was Buck’s turn to snicker. “You know me, Chris…”

 

“Yeah, I do. See ya, Buck. Bright and early… tomorrow morning.”

 

“Yes, boss.” 

 

Chris disconnected the call and rose from the chair. The game was venturing into the middle of the fourth inning now with the Cubs up 7 to 3. He made his way to the kitchen for another beer and considering whether or not if he wanted to try Josiah. 

 

On a good day, the profiler could try his patience when it came to just idle conversation. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the older man, in fact, there were few others that he trusted or relied on like Sanchez. It was just that Josiah had a tendency to over-analyze things; well, everything. Today, he just wanted easy, comfortable, conversation. 

 

_ Like he had with Vin... _

 

He scrolled down to Vin’s number once again. Once more it rang several times before going to voicemail. He hung up, not seeing a point in leaving the same message again.

 

“Okay, no sense in leaving Josiah out,” he chastised himself, taking a deep pull of the fresh beer. 

 

Dialing the big profiler, he didn’t have to wait long before the deep voice acknowledged his call. 

 

“Hey boss. Something up?” 

 

“Uh, no… no… sorry, didn’t mean to disturb ya’ ‘siah.” Chris stammered. 

 

“Not a problem, Chris. Something I can help you with? Is everything okay?”

 

“Oh yeah… well, I guess so. I uh, just wondered if you wanted to come over and watch the Rockies game? Thought maybe we’d just kick back with some beer and pizza. I called Buck and JD, but uh, they have other plans. Can’t get ahold of Vin.”

 

There was a brief pause and for a moment, Larabee wasn’t sure if he’d lost contact with the other man. Just as he was about to call out, Sanchez spoke.    
  


“Ermm, Chris, I do appreciate the offer, but I’ve already committed to helping down at St. Dominic’s this evening.”

 

“Hey, no problem. It was just a spare of the moment thing.” 

 

“Perhaps you’ll catch Brother Tanner. I’m sure he’ll not pass up the chance for pizza and beer.” Josiah said assuredly. 

  
“Hmm, yeah maybe. I’ve tried him twice now, he must be tied up with something around his place or maybe that damned Jeep of his.”

 

There was another long silence again, this one even more unnerving than the last and Larabee waited only moments before he nudged the other man into speaking. 

 

“ Siah? You talked to Vin this weekend?”

 

“Well, now that you mention it… no. I called him yesterday to see if he wanted to come to St. Dom’s with me tonight. Thought maybe he’d want to help out with the young ones while I was working with the older homeless folks, but I never got him. Figured maybe he was out with Buck and JD, or maybe he was just tied up.”

 

“Nah, Buck and JD were busy with a couple of ladies. Did you leave a voicemail?”

 

“Yeah, yesterday afternoon. Come to think of it, not like Vin not to call back.”

 

It was Chris’s turn to go silent now, pausing as he considered reasons for the younger agent’s lack of communication. 

 

“Chris, I’m betting he just took off for the weekend. What with you prepping for tomorrow’s meetings, Buck and JD off on their own and both Nathan and Ezra basically out of touch, you know he probably just headed off up into the mountains somewhere,” Sanchez suggested. 

 

“Yeah, that would explain the calls going to voicemail and him not calling you back yesterday,” Chris agreed. 

 

He followed that with a long release of breath. 

 

“Well, looks like I’m stuck watching the Rockies get the shit beat out of them all by myself,” he bemoaned.

 

Josiah laughed easily. “Sorry my friend. You know, you’ve very welcome to come along with me this evening. You could take up Vin’s place.”

 

Larabee snorted. “Oh yeah, “siah. You want those poor kids to be damaged for life? Nah, I’ll just sit here and practice restraint on cursing at Bud Black. It’ll get me ready for tomorrow.”

 

“Maybe you should get it out of your system today… before you explode in the middle of the meeting?’ 

 

“You may be right. Thanks, Josiah! I’ll see you sometime tomorrow. I’ll probably go straight to the meeting in the morning, so make sure the rest of the class clowns keep it to a dull roar, please?” 

 

“You got it, boss. See you tomorrow.”

 

Chris said goodbye and disconnected, both a little disappointed and glad that he was spared the profiler’s company. He thought about trying Vin again, but the more he considered the conversation with Sanchez, the more it began to seem likely that Tanner  _ had  _ decided to take off for the weekend. 

 

It was just his style, especially after a bust like the one with DeLeon. Considering the amount of time and work they’d put into the case, Vin was just as likely as Ezra or any of them to need a little “downtime.” The difference for Vin was that unlike Standish who sought the high-end creature comforts, Tanner went for simple, back-to-nature things. Fresh air, fresh water and star-filled skies topped off his list. 

 

Yes, now that Chris thought about it, he could picture Vin, bare feet submerged in some lake, fishing line dangling in the same and face turned up to the warm sun. More than likely his cell phone, if he even had it on him, was stuffed in the bottom of his backpack. 

 

Larabee retrieved another cold beer and headed back toward the den just in time to see Kyle Schwarber crush a hit to the wall out in center field scoring two more runs. He groaned at the debacle the game had become and idly began flipping through the channels pausing when he caught sight of Val Kilmer’s famous cup twirl scene in Tombstone. 

 

He smiled warmly, thinking of how this was one of Vin’s favorite films; the sharpshooter loving westerns and never missing an opportunity to watch this particular movie. 

 

“Surprised Vin traded a weekend out in the woods for passing up veggin’ out on the couch with a western marathon,” Larabee reflected. He’d have to tease his best friend about it tomorrow when he saw him. 

 

In the meantime, it seemed he was destined to finish off the weekend on his own. His men were all engaged with other activities and he supposed he couldn’t blame a one of them. They were good men, the best, and they each deserved the time to relax. 

 

Pushing back in the recliner, Chris drifted off to the sound of Wyatt Earp taking care of the Cowboys. His dreams were filled with odd snippets of old west gunfighters, shootouts and hanging out in a dark and dirty saloon. As the westerns played on in the background, the sleeping agent subconsciously incorporated the noises into all his current stresses producing a weird vision that included all the guys in a wild west setting. 

 

Chris woke some time later, the sun having drifted toward the other side of the house and casting shadows into the room. Tombstone was over and old reruns of Rawhide were playing now. He drug a shaky hand down his face, realizing that while he was awake, his heart was beating like a rabbit’s. The panic was a result of his dreamstate, his waking a consequence of something horrible that had happened within the nightmare he’d been having. 

  
Trying to focus, he couldn’t clearly grasp the fleeting tendrils of memory. The only thing that distinctly came to mind were the images of all the boys, each dressed in period garb, and part of some law enforcement group just like now. They’d been chasing the bad guys, bank robbers or something, he couldn’t quite remember. But the sense of foreboding that woke him up was abundantly clear. One of the seven in the dream had been killed. 

 

Larabee took a deep breath and leaned forward, trying to settle his nerves and come fully awake. 

 

“Just a stupid dream…” he assured himself, chuckling nervously. 

 

He got up on unsteady feet and stood there for a minute. “Stupid cowboy shows… goddamn you, Tanner.”

 

Determined to just go back to work and erase the unsettling dream from his thoughts, Larabee moved to shut off the television. Just as he stole one last glance at the screen a scene flashed up with a long-haired half-breed character getting shot and dropping to the ground dead. 

 

Chris froze, his hand stopping on the remote as the dream rushed back in startling clarity. It had been Vin. Vin, wearing old buckskins and a battered cavalry hat, looking every bit as wild and wooly as he did today. They’d been chasing mexican bandits, the leader who reminded him remarkably of DeLeon and Chris assumed that was just because of so much focus on the man with the recent bust. 

 

In the dream, they’d caught the mob, but in the resulting shootout, Vin was caught in the crossfire and Chris could only watch helplessly as his best friend was gunned down and left to bleed in the dirt. He’d never felt so powerless in his life. It had been that strong emotion that had torn him from the nap. 

 

“Just a fucking dream,” the blond leader reassured himself once again. 

Yet even as he finished turning off the set he couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling that took up residence in his spine. 

 

Pulling the cell from his pocket he tabbed to the recent calls and thumbed the icon for Vin. It rang again like before, going to voicemail like it had earlier. Chris frowned, not needing to hide his disappointment from anyone. 

 

“This is Tanner, you know what to do at the beep.”

 

“Vin, uh… just give me a shout whenever you get this message. Doesn’t matter when… okay?”

 

With a sigh and an unsatisfying roll of his neck, Chris strode slowly back to his office, intent on the work he reluctantly never should have left. 

 

Across town, lying nestled between the curb and the front tire of Vin’s Jeep, the cellphone in question vibrated signalling the multiple voicemails and missed calls that had been left. A soft beep also notified in vain that the device battery was close to being drained. Any last connection to the team sharpshooter was about to be severed; even before any of the others were aware of his loss. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a Cubs Fan... don't hate me :)


	4. Day 3

 

 

_ Day 3 _

 

  
  


Monday morning at the Federal building was like a Monday morning at nearly any workplace. Workers, like bees in a hive, arrived in droves to begin the week. Activity in the multi-floor facility was always on the hectic side, but today seemed even more so. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeated nearly every floor and workspace. Random chatter, like the buzz in a hive, seemed to hum at a low level as coworkers filled each other in on the weekends activities. 

 

Team 7 was no exception. 

 

Josiah was the first one to arrive, moving through their designated office space and flipping on switches to turn on the extra lights and other equipment as he made his way to the little break room area that they shared with Team 5. He got a the first pot of coffee for the day going, although now that the weather had turned warmer, JD and Vin tended to switch over to cold beverages by lunch time thereby reducing the normal amount they generally consumed during the day. While it was brewing, he toasted a bagel and waited for the sounds of his other teammates to arrive. 

 

Taking his breakfast back to his desk, the burly profiler wasn’t very surprised to see that Nathan had made his way in and was systematically going through his usual morning rituals. The dark medic was as predictable as he was methodical, beginning first with powering up his desktop then unlocking his file cabinet drawers and finally taking out a legal pad and pens so he’d have them at the ready for whatever note taking or other documentation he’d have to do throughout the day. 

 

Josiah chuckled just slightly. He wondered if Nathan realized just how OCD he was? 

 

JD and Buck entered next, their usual conversation level not diminished by either the morning hour or the fact that it was a Monday. If anything, the two roommates seemed even more verbose than usual.

 

“I’m tellin’ ya’, Buck, there’s no way you knew those two girls were together,” the younger agent insisted as he trailed slightly behind the bigger man. 

 

Wilmington laughed, stopping to turn and face his protegee’. 

 

“JD… when you’ve had the experience that I’ve had with the fairer sex… you just get a  _ feel _ for these things… like a sixth sense…”

 

“You see dead people?” JD teased.

 

The bigger man slapped him good-naturedly in the arm. “No, you jackass, I do not see dead people. I’m talking about knowing women. I had those two pegged right off the bat.”

 

JD smirked, eyebrows raised in suspicion. “Uh huh… sure you did, Buck. Is that why you were so hot and bothered on Saturday night when Misty wouldn’t let you stay the night? Seems like you spent an awful long time in the shower when we got home.”

 

Buck glared at him as he dropped into his chair. “I’ll have you know it was because I had that nacho cheese sauce all over me. It took a bit of extra scrubbin’ to get it out of my chest hairs,” he explained calmly. 

 

JD slid into his seat across from his counterpart, nodding as he powered up his computer.    
  


“Sure, Buck… whatever you say. ‘Course, ya’ never did explain how you got that cheese all over ya’ t’ begin with.”

 

The ladies man mumbled something JD couldn’t quite make out as he quickly rose from his chair. Unfortunately, his comment wasn’t out of earshot of his other co-workers, both of which snickered as he passed by. 

 

“Guess you should be glad the lady chose not to use wax or honey,” Josiah called out. “Otherwise, you’re so-called trademark chest might be worse for the wear.”

 

“Not to mention,” Nathan added in, spinning around in his seat. “You’re damn lucky you didn’t end up in the E.R. gettin’ treated for burns. That cheese sauce can be pretty hot. I’ve seen it raise blisters on folks before.”

 

“Wait… what… Buck… what were you… what did she do with the cheese?” JD stammered, abruptly jumping from his seat and chasing after his best friend.

 

The older two men burst into laughter as their teammates headed toward the breakroom, JD still demanding answers while Buck stuttered through a variety of bogus excuses. 

 

Josiah turned back to his good friend, his laughter slowly subsiding. 

  
“So, I take it your weekend with Raine was slightly less adventurous?”

Nathan smiled in return and nodded. 

 

“Well, it didn’t involve lesbians and nacho cheese, so… ummm, yeah!”

 

He paused briefly, his gaze turning to the picture of his wife that sat on the corner of his desk. Letting loose a long sigh, he turned back to his good friend.

 

“We had a great weekend, Josiah. I took her up to Devils Thumb Ranch for the weekend, went all out and it was wonderful. Just the two of us, reconnecting after this last case. But at the end of it all, we were back to the same old argument.”

 

Sanchez nodded, sadly. “Having kids?”

 

Nathan sighed again as his head slowly moved up and down in agreement. 

 

“She wants kids so bad… and so do I… but the job…” he began. 

 

“She’s still so worried about you getting hurt?”

 

“Or worse.”

 

Josiah went silent for a moment as he considered the younger man’s dilemma. It was a common problem within the agency, law enforcement in general, and many marriages didn’t survive it long-term. He’d thought that Nathan and Raine were different, the young couple seemed to have a better than normal ability to communicate and with Raine working at St. Joseph’s Medical Center, he thought just maybe she’d be a little more accepting of the real risks.

 

“Doesn’t she realize that in nearly seven years with the bureau, you’ve only been injured a couple of times? And even then, it's been pretty minor; not like Vin or Ezra.” 

 

Jackson groaned. “Oh dear lord, I think she would’ve left me by now if I had Vin or Ezra’s track record.”

 

“Is that my good name I hear being maligned in my absence already this fine Monday morning?”

 

The two agents swung around to see one of the subjects in question sweep into the office with his usual flair. Ezra Standish may have for all intents hated mornings, but his appearance would never have let anyone be the wiser. 

 

“I was just telling Josiah that Raine would never put up with me if I got hurt as much as you or Vin,” Nathan explained. 

 

The undercover man paused at his desk and carefully set his Maxwell Scott briefcase carefully on top. 

 

“I simply do not understand why there is such emphasis on the quantity of injuries that Mr. Tanner and I incur. One would speculate that our colleagues have some preoccupation with the macabre or some fetish with our afflictions.”

 

The stylish agent turned back to his desk and opening his case, began taking items from it and placing them precisely on the clean blotter that covered his workstation. 

 

“And besides,” he continued. “I should not be held in nearly the same classification as our frequently incapacitated sharpshooter. I believe I take offense to that.”

 

“Now don’t go getting all upset, Ezra. Josiah and I were just talking about a conversation between Raine and me. Raine is upset ‘cause she always thinks I’m gonna get hurt on the job,” Nathan explained. 

 

Ezra cautiously seated himself so as not to wrinkle or harm his suit. He smoothed his trousers and pushed the chair in closer to the desk and cleared his throat.

  
“I believe I understand your lovely bride’s reluctance. One need not look past the evening news to see the horrendous statistics rising almost daily. Our chosen profession has become little more than human targets of late.”

 

“Gee thanks, Ez. Remind me not to let you talk to Raine anytime soon,” Nathan replied back ruefully. 

 

“Why is Ez talkin’ to Raine?” JD asked as he and Buck came back in from the breakroom, steaming cups of coffee in hand. 

 

Josiah rose from his seat as the morning courier handed him a stack of correspondence that had come through the building’s mail room over the weekend. 

“Really, John Dunne, you have the worst tendency to enter a conversation at the most inappropriate times,” he teased the confused young man. 

 

JD shrugged and moved back to his desk, deciding maybe silence was in his best interest. 

 

“Hey Ezra, how was your weekend away?” Buck asked. 

 

Standish took a slow sip of his latte before replying. “A gentleman does not divulge private matters, Mr. Wilmington… although I do not expect you to be familiar with that particular tenet.” 

 

“I bet it didn’t include hot cheese,” JD muttered, ducking as a wadded up piece of paper sailed toward his head. 

 

Josiah shook his head and tried to hide the smile from his face. “Alright you, children, I promised Chris I’d make sure you all would behave till he got back. I’m sure everyone still has plenty of work to do wrapping up the DeLeon case. No doubt the ADA will be breathing down our backs to see what, if anything, we can bring him for prosecution.”

 

The big agent finished sorting through the letters and interoffice envelopes handing out the ones that belonged to the team before heading toward their leader’s closed office to place the remaining ones on his desk. 

 

“Hey “siah, where are Vin and Chris this morning?” Nathan asked, motioning toward the sharpshooter’s empty desk. 

 

Sanchez frowned and looked at the watch on his wrist. A quarter past nine and Vin had yet to arrive. It wasn’t unheard of for the long-haired agent to be late, but it was a generally rare occurrence. 

 

“Chris is tied up with CID and Army Intel debriefing them on the DeLeon bust. Seems they want an accounting for the weapons we did get back as well as what might still be out there, especially those Javelins. And Vin… well, I’m not sure where Vin might be?” 

 

“Is he with Chris?” JD suggested.

 

“I doubt that,” Josiah answered. “After what happened out at that Army National Guard base last year, I’m pretty sure neither Vin nor any Army bigwigs want to be in each other’s presence just yet.”

 

“Well, has anyone heard from him?” Nathan asked, looking from teammate to teammate.

 

JD shrugged and Buck shook his head. 

 

“I only returned to Denver on the red-eye this morning. And I’m afraid there are no missed calls on my cellular,” Ezra informed them.  

 

Josiah rubbed the back of his neck, niggling concern beginning to worry its way down his spine.    
  


“Kinda odd, neither Chris or I could get a hold of him this weekend, thought maybe he’d headed up into the mountains to get away after everything.”

 

“And that behavior would be surprising how?” Standish added in with a tinge of sarcasm. 

 

“It’s not, and really, maybe he already called in to Chris this morning before we all got here. It’s just… hmmm… probably nothing,” Josiah mused, shaking his head and moving on towards the SAC’s office. 

 

“You think something’s wrong, ‘siah?” Buck asked, his face not masking the worry that was incrementally growing. 

 

The profiler paused at the door, turning back to look at the mustached man. He forced a smile. 

 

“Nah, I’m sure it’s nothing. Just had a weird dream last night and I let it get to me. I’m betting Vin just decided to take an extra day. Not like we all didn’t deserve it.”

 

The other four men mumbled their assent and went about beginning their work as the fifth entered into the empty office. Josiah started to put the handful of mail into the Inbox on Larabee’s desk and then suddenly changed his mind and decided to put it front and center where Chris would find it immediately upon his return. 

 

He turned to walk out, pausing again at the door, that disquieting feeling beginning to fester deeper in his bones. He wanted to call Chris, wanted to check to see if the senior agent had heard from their missing friend, but rationally he knew he had no good excuse for disturbing the high-level important meeting. 

 

Tanner would show up, or even call. He’d feel foolish, even laugh at himself for worrying over nothing. 

 

“Yep, just turning into a regular worrywort over these boys,” he chided himself, softly closing the door behind him.

  
  
  
  


*** M7 ***

 

Vin swallowed, trying to muffle the groan that begged to escape him at the barest movement that simple action caused. His throat was raw, probably from lack of water, or at least that’s what he preferred to think. But the tiny fragment of rational thought that still remained told him bluntly that it was from screaming. 

 

He hated that he’d shown that amount of weakness and only drew some slight comfort from the fact that it took DeLeon and his thugs three days to finally elicit that reaction from him. If there was any saving grace, it was that he spent most of the first day unconscious after they took turns just beating on his body with their fists. 

 

They weren’t too smart about torture, Vin realized. Using your own body to hurt someone else wasn’t the most effective method for inducing long-term suffering. But he supposed they’d figured that out somewhere along the way because once he came back around, they’d graduated to other means of abusing him. 

 

And by other means, Vin regretfully realized that they were no more adept at wielding knives than they were their fists. DeLeon thought to intimidate him. Thought that by threatening him with something as visceral as stabbing or slicing, somehow he’d exact some sort of revenge. 

 

But what he didn’t understand was that when there was nothing Vin could provide, no information to be handed over, calls to be made or deals to be brokered, torture for the sake of pain lost its meaning. After they recorded the video of the bleeding and nearly unconscious agent, there was nothing more that they could get from him that carried any value. 

 

In anger, DeLeon set his sights on trying to break the young agent. And that was one thing Vin Tanner had better people try to do to him before. 

 

So when yesterday, DeLeon and his men showed up with cattle prods, he held out for as long as he could. He knew his body would only last so long against the electricity and that was if the jackass wielding the weapon remotely knew what they were doing with it and where to inflict the greatest amount of pain. 

 

These assholes didn’t.

 

It was almost like watching a toddler try to figure out how to paint using a brush. They were everywhere with it. Hitting him high on the chest and low on the legs, never really being consistent enough to burn or even set the nerve endings in his body off into spasms. He would have laughed at them, at their ineptness, except it would have just gotten him beaten again and he wasn’t altogether sure he wasn’t bleeding internally now as it was. 

 

Then apparently they found Picasso. A master who knew how to work the prod with a skilled touch. Through tear-filled eyes, Vin watched as he approached, a sadistic smile spread across his face and mirrored by a similar glint in his eyes. He was going to enjoy this. 

 

Over his shoulder and just a foot or two behind him stood DeLeon, eagerness playing out on his face. 

 

Something was whispered to the gunrunner and DeLeon directed his men to have Vin repositioned. Almost immediately, he felt the ropes holding his legs pulled backwards so that his knees were bent and his feet lifted up off the ground behind him. He was still suspended by his arms and neck but hanging now in an almost upturned U. 

 

The dark-skinned man walked around him, perusing his body as though he were deciding where to strike first, but Vin knew it was just a tactic to try and unnerve him, not letting him see or anticipate where the first hit would land. 

 

He tried to relax, knowing that tensing would only intensify his reaction to the initial charge. Opening his mouth, he forced himself to breathe and take in as much oxygen as he could. 

 

When it came it nearly made him blackout from the pain. The prod landed on the sole of his bare left foot, lingering there for a solid five count as the charge coursed through his body and his muscles contracted with a violent reaction. Vin refused to cry out, but his head dropped down as far as the restraints around his neck would permit, his long hair obscuring his face and the agony portrayed there. Before he could recover his breath the prod came down on the back of his calf, setting off yet again another uncontrollable convulsion.  

 

DeLeon was laughing. “You look like a giant fish, Tanner,” he taunted. “Jerking and flopping about.”

 

Vin ignored the jeer. He really had no suitable comeback or the energy to offer it. 

 

The shock stick touched his skin again, this time on his side beneath his armpit. His body snapped up against the ropes holding him, his form going rigid before dropping back down and suspending his weight limply by his shoulders. The torturer tapped him again in two quick successive hits, one to his other foot and the second to his other arm. The effect was to make him jerk in multiple directions like a marionette, discoordinated and spastic. 

 

In front of him, DeLeon clapped for joy. “Yes… yes… more… more!”

 

He was obliged as the hispanic man laid the wand down on the agent’s flesh in a rapid series of strikes; the back of his neck, the soft sides of his abdomen, his bare foot, his neck and under his buttocks. Vin jerked and spasmed, tears leaking from his eyes even as harsh grunts of pain escaped from his mouth. The agony was insufferable but he couldn’t quite embrace the darkness that was beckoning his consciousness.. 

 

DeLeon’s sadistic laughter was echoing through the warehouse now and Vin could only think of trying to block out the insane noise. He wanted the pain to stop but more than anything, he just wanted the man to quit laughing. He’d tolerated pain before, had been subjected to torture both as part of his SERE training and even later during his time as a Ranger in Afghanistan; he knew it was almost always the mental aspect that wore a captive down. 

 

Taunting and threats were easy to ignore, easy to either brush off or combat with equal and greater verbal responses. As far as mental abuse went, threats tended to be ineffective as a tool to getting a reaction; children learned this early on, Vin certainly had. 

  
Wearing a body down physically and mentally, had the dual effect of keeping the prisoner unable to rest or resist; made it much harder for them to recover or maintain a state of defiance against the captor. 

 

Vin wasn’t there yet. While his body was hurting, beaten and certainly feeling the abuse from everything DeLeon’s goons had thrown at it thus far, he wasn’t to the point of being broken - yet. And mentally, while he hadn’t really slept, beyond the times that he’d been unconscious, and he was surely battling a textbook concussion, he was by far not to the point of curling up in the corner and rocking. 

 

But that damn laughter. It was nails on a chalkboard. Or worse, slivers under his skin… although Vin determined not to think about those particular tortures less DeLeon get any ideas. The problem was he just couldn’t tune it out, couldn’t find his headspace; that quiet white-noise place where he could shut everything else out. 

 

The dark man touched the electrical prod down on his skin on his groin holding it there for several long seconds. The surge rushed through his lower body, the muscles in his legs first spasming before going numb while those in the lower part of his belly contracted painfully. He could feel his genitals clenching, the muscles controlling his bladder reacting to the current that was ripping through his body. 

 

Vin screamed in agony, unable to bear the torment on one of the most fragile parts of his anatomy. His flesh was burning, but that was the least of his concerns as he heard the tell-tale sounds of liquid dribbling to the concrete below him. The pungent odor of urine filled his nostrils and combined with the aroma of his burning skin and the ozone smell from the prod. Restrained as he was, he couldn’t pull away, couldn’t retreat from the electricity or stop his utter humiliation.  

 

“Awww, too bad we didn’t get that on video for your team,” DeLeon mocked. “I just bet your buddies wouldn’t think so much of their sniper if they saw you now?”

 

The Mexican lifted the shock stick, temporarily ceasing the current although it did not immediately stop the pain or contractions. He backed away from the Federal Agent, glancing down at the puddle on the floor. The gunrunner stepped up next to him, being careful not to come near either the fluid or the sharpshooter. 

 

“Really, Tanner, what a fucking mess!” 

 

Vin, his head and neck still held by virtue of the rope that pulled it upward, glared blearily through barely opened eyes. 

 

“Le...l-le..m-me... d-do’wn... ‘ll...s-see ‘bout… m-ma..’kin...a m-m ess…”he gasped out. 

 

DeLeon continued to laugh. “No, I don’t think so. You see, I’ve sent my demands to your team and while you better hope that if they care about you even a little bit they’ll respond quickly, I don’t really give a damn whether or not I give you back in one piece or a hundred.”

 

The young agent cringed inwardly. He hadn’t heard or rather hadn’t been conscious after DeLeon and his muscle had finished making the video of them beating the crap out of him to know what demands had been made. He could only assume that the would-be drug and gun dealer wanted back the weapons and money that had been seized during the raid by Team 7 and the other Federal agencies. 

 

The former Denver businessman had been going on and on since capturing the ATF sniper of how he was going to send the video and communications of demands back to the team and Chris. His smug assurance that he would triumph over the law enforcement agency because he had somehow outwitted and outplayed Team 7 disgusted Vin. He knew Chris would never bargain the weapons back to the likes of DeLeon for a hostage, especially at the risk that they would eventually fall into cartel hands. But it was the knowledge that Chris and the guys would at least know what had happened to him  that had kept Vin going, gave him some semblance of hope; and inwardly made him smile just a little. 

 

“What the fuck are you grinning at?”

 

DeLeon’s voice cut through the grayness that seeped into edges of Vin’s consciousness.

 

“G’...g-gon’a… k-kill...ya’...” he managed between pain-filled stuttered breaths. 

 

“Oh yeah? You? I don’t think you’re gonna be in any shape to kill a fly.”

 

With a nod, he motioned towards the shock stick wielding torturer at his side. 

 

Vin tried to twist away even as the man slowly approached, anticipating the pain to come. He knew he couldn’t stop it, could only suffer it, endure it until …

 

“N-n-no..o-ot...m-me…” He forced out, even as the probe ends touched the skin on the sides of his ribcage. “L-LARABEEEEE!” The name was screamed from Vin’s misused throat in both a warning and a plea as the prod came down on the abused man’s body over and over again.

  
  
  


*** M7 ***

 

Chris was exhausted, mentally tired to the point of needing a dark, quiet room where he could just close the blinds and doors and shut out all outside noise and stimuli. The meetings with CID, INSCOM, DHS and agents from a half dozen other “interested” agencies had left him frustrated, irritated, and more than just a little angry.

 

What should have been a relatively simple debrief meeting to go over the bust turned into a finger-pointing fight over territory, tactics and results. While no one, other than Chris and Orrin, were willing to take responsibility for what had actually been accomplished, it seemed like everyone else there was more than happy to point out the the fallacies and shortcomings of the op. 

 

And so, the morning meeting drifted into lunch and pretty soon, lunch went well past mid-afternoon with the closed-door session solving nothing except to verify that the military didn’t have the jurisdiction, the Fibbies didn’t have the intel, the DEA weren’t looking for guns and were only ever interested in the connection to the cartel. DHS only wanted to know if DeLeon had any Al Qaeda ties. 

 

It gave Chris a migraine. 

On top of it all, lunch had been ordered out and the coffee had been made by someone’s secretary who obviously hadn’t been hired for  _ that _ particular skill. 

 

So it was nearly a quarter past four when he finally made it back to his office on the fifth floor, located along with the rest of the BAFTE teams and most of the support personnel.  He entered off the main elevators, slowly making his way past the bullpen and team’s desks, absently noting that his men were all head’s down and quietly working. 

 

Josiah looked up as he passed, his being the desk closest to the entrance to their workspace. The big man acknowledged his arrival and offered a hearty “Hey Boss” in greeting. 

 

Chris nodded back, noticing only vaguely that all the heads popped up except Tanner and Standish who seemed to be absent. He figured they were off tying up loose ends. 

 

“It’s been a long day guys, finish up whatever you got going and let’s start fresh tomorrow, okay?” he announced, trudging the last few steps toward his private office. Hearing a few mumbles in reply, Chris didn’t turn to see what, if any, reaction there was to his orders. He was simply too tired to care. 

 

Once inside, he bypassed the switch for the overhead lights opting instead for the lamp on his desk. Dropping bonelessly into his chair, he immediately reached for the tie around his neck, tugging it loose and stripping it from around his throat, immediately relishing the lack of constriction. Next, he sat forward and pulled his arms free of the suit coat he’d been wearing all day as well, glad to be rid of the extra layer, then unbuttoning the cuffs of his dress shirt and pushing up the sleeves. 

 

He sank back, a deep breath exhaled from his lungs even as he closed his eyes and welcomed the momentary quiet. 

 

Some days he really hated this job. 

  
  


Outside, Chris could hear the movement of his men as they shut down the office for the day. He knew one or more of them would at the very least poke their head in and say goodnight before leaving and he steadied himself for the inevitable intrusion. 

 

Glancing about his desk, he noticed that someone, likely Josiah or Nathan, had placed the day’s mail there so he could review it. He quickly shuffled through the batch, noting the usual interoffice correspondence mixed with a few inbound pieces from outside agencies along with the requisite junk mail that even the Federal Government couldn’t avoid. 

 

He picked out a couple of pieces that looked as though they needed more immediate attention and pushed the rest aside until his eyes landed on a small, padded mailer, the kind commonly used to protect something like a DVD or other fragile materials.

 

Chris glanced at the return address but it was a generic envelope postmarked from Denver. He shook the small package and could hear something light and small moving around inside. 

 

Obviously, building security had already checked it out as evidenced by the stamp on the outside, so there was no worry there. But it was a bit of a mystery and his brow wrinkled as he examined it more closely.

 

Tearing off the end carefully, some small voice in the back of his head set off a caution. Tilting the package, a nondescript black flashdrive tumbled out onto the desktop. He was about to pick it up when there was a firm knock on his door and Josiah’s head peeked around the corner. 

 

“We’re all just about to head out. Everything go okay today?” 

 

Chris smiled wanly. “About like you’d expect when you get a bunch of toddlers in a room fighting over the same cookie,” the SAC replied. “And of course, none of the toddlers really wants the cookie.” 

 

Josiah chuckled. “And they all need a nap on top of it?”

 

Larabee rolled his eyes and groaned. “Please don’t mention a nap. I’m so damn tired I think I could fall asleep sitting here. Don’t think I slept a wink last night for some reason.” 

 

The profiler nodded. “Know what you mean. Had some awful dreams myself last night. Try not to pay much mind to them, but sometimes it’s hard not to let them affect you.”

 

“Well, get out of here and maybe you can play some catch-up. I’m gonna finish up a couple of things, check my mail and I don’t think I’m far behind all of you. Maybe I’ll hang out till Standish and Tanner get back and let them know.”

 

Josiah’s expression became serious.  “Vin? Vin’s not here today. Was hoping maybe he’d called in to you.”

 

Chris frowned and absently reached for the back of his neck. “No… no… I haven’t heard from him. But then, I got here early and you know Orin, he has a no cell policy in meetings like that, so I’ve had my phone on vibrate all day. I could have missed his call.”

 

Larabee watched as Sanchez seemed to consider the possibility.

“You think he's still up in the mountains?” 

 

Chris considered it but even as he did he knew the answer wasn't that simple. 

 

“Hmmm… maybe. But if he is, either something's happened or…”

 

“Yeah,”Josiah quickly agreed. “Vin would've contacted you. Somehow… someway.”

 

The senior agent sat forward in his chair and absently rolled the flash drive between his fingers. There was something about the otherwise benign device that was making the voice in his head begin to shout. 

 

“ siah’, you mind giving Vin’s cell another try. And call Mrs. Fernandez that lives the floor below. She’ll know if he's there or has been around. Hell, that woman's another Nettie Wells.” 

 

“You got it, Chris.” Sanchez affirmed and quickly headed out of the dim office. 

 

Larabee sighed again and rubbed a calloused thumb against the edge of his right brow. 

 

“Dammit, Tanner!” He groused. “I don't need to be chasing your sorry ass right now. You better just have decided to take an extra day and have forgot to charge that damn cell like usual.”

 

But even as he spoke the words something told him deep down it wasn't so. He glanced again at the thumb drive. It beckoned to him like the flashing light of an emergency signal, warning of something dire. 

 

He briefly considered trying to call Vin himself but knew that Josiah had that covered and one more connection would only either tie up the line or worse, royally piss off the intensely private man if he were truly at home sick or something else. 

 

Yet even as Chris was pressing the drive into the open slot in his computer, his gut was already telling him Vin Tanner wasn't playing hooky. 

 

It took just a couple of seconds for whatever file to load and Larabee clicked it open with his mouse when the prompt appeared on the screen. The ominous feeling went into overdrive when a video opened with Roberto DeLeon standing front and center in what looked like a run of the mill warehouse.

 

“Agent Larabee,” the wanted man began. “I'm sure you and your men started this day thinking you were the best law enforcement had to offer. After all the time you spent investigating my business enterprises just to set up that pathetic invasion of my operations… well, I will give you marks for effort. And I suppose you’ll be commended by your peers and superiors for the property of mine that you managed to …  _ re-acquire _ … back for your masters. But, as I'm really a businessman, let's talk business…”

 

Chris watched intently as the well-dressed, Hispanic man rambled on. Behind him in the video, the senior agent could barely make out shadows of movement as though there were others standing just outside the frame.

 

“...so you see, Agent Larabee, you have something I want, I have something you want. You and your men took something from me… my men took something I think you'll find valuable - from you. I’m proposing a simple business transaction really. Capitalism, Agent Larabee. It's what makes this country great.”

 

He knew in his gut what was coming next even before the image switched. The pieces all fell together like some bizarre puzzle that had made no sense until the one missing suddenly fit. Even still, when DeLeon stepped aside and the camera zoomed closer to focus on the form that had been hidden in the shadow behind him, Chris felt his breath catch in his chest. 

 

Even If he hadn’t recognized the long sun-streaked hair tangled,  tousled and flecked with red as it was now, or the lithe, muscular arms and legs- disturbingly bare as was the rest of the bloodied and bruised body, and the blue, nearly punch-swollen shut eyes that stared out at the camera, the Team 7 leader would've still known  who it was. Chris choked back a gasp at the sight of a naked and horribly beaten Vin Tanner. 

 

“What is your friend worth, Agent Larabee?” DeLeon asked smugly. “Shall we discuss my proposal?”

 

The screen changed and now the image replayed what appeared to be an earlier recorded scene of DeLeon’s men taking turns at inflicting damage on the restrained agent. Vin remained mute during the ordeal, his body reacting to the abuse but his blue eyes fixed downward, unfocused. 

 

“Agent Tanner has been well-trained, but I’d wager even he has a breaking point. It will be interesting to see just where that point is and how far I’ll have to go to make him scream and beg for mercy? What do you think Agent Larabee? Just how tough do you think he is?”

 

Chris could feel the bile rising in his throat. It took everything he had to just sit and watch the video continue on, seconds felt like hours as the beating of his best friend seemed endless. Eventually, the screen flashed back to the original picture; an unconscious Tanner hanging listlessly, his body a mass of bruises, rivulets of red leaving trails from head to toe. 

 

DeLeon continued on for a moment longer, plainly delivering his threats of further abuse to the young agent unless his contraband merchandise was returned to him within a prescribed deadline. Chris listened to the dialogue numbly, the appearance of Vin making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. 

 

The video ended abruptly after a final threat from the would-be crime lord and the screen went back to the BAFTE logo effectively cutting off any sense of connection to Vin. Chris sat there for a breathless beat, stilling himself as the last four minutes reran through his mind; the image of his best friend vivid in its brutal clarity. 

 

Guilt threatened to assault him, internal voices demanding to know why he hadn't checked up on Vin sooner. Why hadn't he protected the younger agent from something like this happening? 

 

But Chris forced the noise away. He didn't have the time right now to deal with the “what ifs.” Wallowing in condemnation and reproach wasn’t going to save Vin. Rising up determinedly, he began gathering the files on DeLeon from the meeting earlier in the day, his voice bellowing out loudly to the outer room at the same time. 

 

“JOSIAH… IN HERE NOW!” Chris shouted. 

 

The profiler’s heavy footsteps sounded following the call and seconds later he appeared at the door even as Larabee was heading out to meet him. 

 

“Chris?” he asked, looking apprehensively as he noted the look on the leader’s face. 

 

“Call everyone back… NOW!” Chris ordered. “I found Vin.”

 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may not be a huge surprise, but I do not have a beta... so any errors are all my own. Please forgive the typos and grammar- I try but at the end of the day, I never majored in English or Literature... and my experience was a bit more of the "knife and gun club" variety. Hope you're still following and enjoying- thanks to all that are. :)


	5. Day 4

 

 

_ Day 4 _

  
  


The sun had rose a few hours earlier and was now just at the point on the horizon where it cast a bright glare through the Team Seven office windows on the 5th floor. Even on a normal day, it was irritating  to try and sit around the bullpen and carry on any sort of coherent conversation or work on a project while one’s eyes were watering or worse, crimped shut from the painful rays. But today it had became almost impossible for the men seated about the room thanks to the long hours and lack of sleep each had been subjected to since the evening before. 

 

They’d already closed the blinds, hoping for a reprieve, had even turned off the overhead lights in order to reduce any needless extra illumination. Ezra had even taken to donning a pair of custom Tom Ford aviators while he sat reading through a recent update he’d acquired from a contact at Langley. 

 

Chris had disappeared forty minutes earlier to meet with AD Travis, having done barely more than change his shirt, throw fresh water on his face and swish some Scope past his lips to hide the heavy scent of coffee that had been his only sustenance since seeing the video. While he had called the team back in to begin working on retrieving their missing teammate, Larabee hadn’t had the opportunity to fully notify the rest of the agency about DeLeon’s demands or Vin’s abduction. 

 

His meeting with Travis had been more an exercise in frustration than anything. While Larabee understood the tenuous position the Assistant Director was in, he would’ve appreciated some semblance of kinship and favoritism being shown on behalf of Vin being one of his own men albeit indirectly. And it wasn’t that Orin hadn’t been sympathetic, and angry. In fact, his own initial outburst had been loud enough to bring Marie, his assistant of nearly twelve years, running from the outer office. 

 

Still, in the end, diplomacy and protocol won over and despite Chris’s objections and utter disbelief, the elder official arranged for a meeting with the team and department leads from the various agencies that had all been a part of the DeLeon investigation. Larabee dreaded the upcoming assembly, already knowing full-well what the outcome would be. 

 

Glancing at his watch, it was nearly ten a.m. That gave him just a little over an hour to check in with the guys and see what, if any, new information had developed. He detoured past the break room to refill his coffee cup unable to help focusing on the lonely black mug emblazoned with the Henry Repeating Rifles logo. Vin had got it at a gun show a while back and always joked that it made his coffee taste better because it was from a good old American weapons manufacturer. JD had been quick to remind him that the mug itself was most likely made in China. 

 

Chris stared at the solitary piece of dishware a moment longer, part of him offering up a silent, hopeful wish that the mischievous and loyal agent would be quickly returned to their fold, while another part of him could only see the horrific pictures of Vin, hanging from the metal rafters, and looking as ill-treated as Larabee had ever seen or ever wanted to see his best friend. 

 

“Coffee’s at least drinkable when Junior’s not ‘round,” Buck teased, coming up behind Chris and interrupting his dark thoughts. 

 

The SAC turned on his oldest friend and grinned briefly then the somberness of the situation returned and his smile faded, replaced with a blacker, more ominous look. 

 

Buck’s humor quickly faded under Larabee’s menacing glare. Under the best of circumstances, Chris was imposing - to put it mildly. But with something like this going on, Larabee was downright frightening. 

 

“Yeah, well, I’d switch to decaffeinated tea if we just get that long-haired, Texan back here in one piece,” Buck added gently. 

 

Chris’s glare softened and he nodded in agreement. “Now that will be worth seeing,” he joked back. “Should we let Ezra get the odds going on that?”

 

“On what?” the bigger agent asked. “Whether we get Vin back or whether I give up drinkin’ mud?”

 

“Let’s put it this way. You best stock up on sugar, lemon and those fancy scone things that folks take with their tea time… ‘cause I swear to ‘ya, Buck, we’re getting Vin back.”

 

“Yeah, well, I don’t think there’s any doubt of that, Chris.”

 

The older agent paused, his face a grim mask of determination as he locked gazes with his subordinate. Buck’s blue-eyed expression usually so filled with mirth and lightheartedness was now solemn and sincere, his usual broad smile absent from his face. 

 

“We’ll get him back…”

 

Chris tried to smile again, wished he could find the place inside him that could tap into such strong faith and utter conviction that always seemed to be Buck Wilmington’s strong suit, but it was just out of his grasp. Or worse, it was replaced by the more overwhelming and darker feelings that tended to feed his psyche.  

 

“So, Orin backing us up in this?” Buck asked after a moment. 

 

Chris sighed deeply in disgust and shook his head. He could see the disbelief and anger quickly build in his friend’s face. 

 

“Not that he didn’t want to, but he’s caught in the middle of a turf war. This is bigger than just ATF and Vin,” Larabee replied. 

 

“Bigger than Vin?” Buck shouted, his eyebrows raised to magnify his emotion. “How the fu-” 

 

Chris’s restraining arm and equally cautioning glare warned the dark-haired agent to censor his language.    
  


Wilmington drew in a calming breath and did nothing to hide his eye-roll before continuing, his voice a stern whisper. 

 

“What… can be more… important... than getting back Vin?” he demanded, his blue eyes taking on a piercing vibrance that Chris knew was reserved for those times when Buck was particularly upset. 

 

Larabee could understand the younger man’s irritation and inability to understand how anything other than full-on focus towards recovering their lost teammate was nothing short of inexcusable; he felt the same way himself. But Chris also recognized that there were larger issues than just the welfare of one ATF agent.

 

“Buck, you gotta know that if it were just up to Orin, we’d likely have stormed into every place DeLeon owned, every hole he could have crawled into, until we got Vin back. But it's just not that simple.”

 

Wilmington chuffed air. “Oh? Not that simple? Maybe you can explain it to me then, Chris? Cause’ I guaran-damn-tee if Junior were standing here, he’d be arming himself to the teeth and be getting ready to march through Hell itself to get you, me, even Orin if the tables were turned.”

 

Chris dropped his head, chin tucked to his chest as he walked away from the bigger man. Buck wasn’t saying anything he didn’t know, anything he hadn’t already argued to Director Travis and with much more colorful language, anything he didn’t feel deep in his chest in the heart that felt like it was being ripped into pieces with guilt. 

 

Tossing the contents of his coffee cup into the sink, his stomach threatening to bring up anything that remained inside, he stilled himself and stared at the black liquid swirling down the drain. 

 

“Get the boys together and have them all meet up in the main conference room in thirty. We’ve got to coordinate with CID, DEA and the Fibbies on this,” he ordered. 

 

“Aw Chris, you gotta be shittin’ me? DEA and the Feds aren’t gonna give a rat’s ass about Vin… c’mon!” he whined. 

 

“Just do it, Buck. The more time we waste, the more time DeLeon has Vin,” he snapped, spinning around to face the agent. 

 

Buck nodded, noting the barely disguised pain in the green eyes. 

 

“Yeah… yeah, sure. I’ll let everyone know, Chris.”

 

He silently exited the break room, casting a careful glance behind him. Chris watched, considered offering a word of apology for the harsh rebuke but couldn’t find the words. He didn’t disagree with the argument Buck had offered, and God knew, he certainly shared similar emotion. Larabee just had to be the leader, had to hold it together when he wanted to march right up to Roberto DeLeon and unload his 9mm point blank into the bastard’s face. 

 

It had him wondering if there was still anything in the bottle of Beam he kept in the bottom right drawer of his desk. Something told him that before this was all over, that bottle was going to be replaced a couple of times over. 

  
  
  


 

*** M7 ***

 

 

 

Chris hated the large conference room. Whoever designed it and outfitted the furniture never clearly thought out the functionality of it. 

 

The room itself was too long, the acoustics poor so that anyone seated at the end closest to the door was constantly disturbed by the noise coming from the hallway and the nearby elevator. The table, due to the shape of the room, was long and narrow, creating an impossible meeting scenario. Anyone seated at one end could never quite hear or contribute to people seated at the other. 

 

As a result, pockets of conversation ended up developing which in turn just increased the volume of noise and confusion. It was worse than trying to carry on a conversation in a room full of children, each trying to shout over the other. 

 

Chris’ migraine went into overload. 

 

“Gentlemen… gentlemen!” Orin Travis raised his voice and eventually stood up slightly from his seat at the head of the table. 

 

Chris smirked slightly. Orin would never be considered a large man, at least not any longer, but he was still imposing when it came to the command his position and power conveyed. 

 

The room went silent immediately.

 

“Gentlemen… thank you. Now please… we need to focus on the situation at hand. I recognize that each of your respective agencies has a vested interest in this operation, but the fact remains that we must not lose focus on the human factor at stake here.”

 

“The United States has a well-known policy when it comes to dealing for hostages with terrorists. It doesn’t make a difference if the hostage is one of our agents,” Joe Landon, one of the senior agents for the Bureau stated matter-of-factly.

 

“Hostage!” Both JD and Nathan shouted back simultaneously, causing Chris to cringe. 

 

“Vin Tanner is not just another hostage,” JD threw back defensively, even as Buck laid a restraining hand on the back of the young agent’s neck. 

 

“And when was it decided that Roberto DeLeon was a terrorist?” Josiah asked nonchalantly. 

 

“What would you call the man who has possession of a couple Javelins, an unknown quantity of RPGs and oh… let’s not forget, now we know he has not one, but six M72 LAWs that should be off in Afghanistan or Iraq or hell, anywhere but here in Denver,” Mike Wills from Homeland Security replied, not bothering to hide the sarcasm and complete irritation from his voice as he glared at his military counterparts across the table. 

 

“And where was DHS in notifying us or anyone that DeLeon was on the watchlist?” the Army major from CID retorted defensively. “When Congress decides that we can be armed on our own soil and defend ourselves _ ADEQUATELY _ , then maybe arms shipments like the one DeLeon hijacked can be properly protected.”

 

“Enough!” Travis shouted, slapping his hand down against the glossy table top. “This is getting us nowhere. All this finger-pointing and accusations… it’s ridiculous.” 

 

Chris couldn’t have agreed more. He rose from his seat and walked slowly to the credenza placed just behind the long table and poured a glass of water. 

 

“Agent Larabee, you and your team managed to infiltrate DeLeon’s operations once before. What insights or suggestions do you have for moving forward, reacquiring the remaining ordinance and preferably getting our agent back?” Travis directed toward the otherwise silent SAC. 

 

Chris looked around the room. He was greeted by looks of trust and hope from his own team, distrust and irritation from the SACs of the other agencies and even condescension from the two military officers. He had hoped to at least have them on his side, considering Vin was ex- Army Ranger. 

 

_ Guess not… _  he thought wanly.

 

Larabee paused for effect before he spoke, letting his eyes make eye contact with each of the other team leaders one-by-one. He spared none of them his steel-eyed glare, not wanting to show them just how desperate he was to do whatever it took to get Vin back.

 

“Roberto DeLeon is nothing more than a grown up version of a gangbanger. He’s trying to make his bones… that’s all this is really about. He stole that shipment because he wants in with the cartel, specifically Sinaloa. But what he doesn’t get is that Sinaloa doesn’t need him. Doesn’t really need the meager bit of weapons he’s bringing to the deal. They’ve been moving into and operating around Denver for a while now, everybody knows that…” 

  
Chris stopped and shot a look at the presiding DEA agent, Ryan Burke. Burke returned his stare non-committedly, dark eyes not conveying any hint of whether Chris was right or wrong.  

 

“Sinaloa has been running weapons into and out of Denver for some time now, it’s just our friends at the DEA have been more concerned about the drugs. But BAFTE has been intercepting smaller shipments here and there, usually lower level soldiers moving them among the hispanic gangs in Purgatorio and usually so that they can protect the larger cocaine and heroin shipments that are headed to the midwest.”

 

“This is all interesting local flavor, Agent Larabee, but the fact remains that we simply are in no position to meet DeLeon’s demands,” Landon reiterated. 

 

Chris drew in a deep breath and continued, trying to ignore the Fed’s obvious ignorance. 

 

“Agent Landon, you’re missing the point altogether. I am trying to make you see that DeLeon thinks that he’s setting himself up to be a right hand Lieutenant in the Sinaloa Cartel here in Denver… and the cartel doesn’t know him, doesn’t trust him, doesn’t want him, regardless of what he brings to the table for them. They’ve already got their network established, their hierarchy in place. They simply don’t need or want some local rich businessman wannabe gangster who’s watched Scarface one too many times.”

 

The room fell into silence as Chris stood there waiting for the rest of the agency heads to respond. 

 

“So how does this help your agent and how do we get our weapons back?” the CID major asked. 

 

“We deal…” Chris answered plainly. “We give him back what he wants, get our agent back and then nail him. Or wait till Sinaloa just takes him out.”

 

The explosion of outrage in the room was nothing less than what Larabee had expected. 

 

“Are you out of your mind?” Landon shouted. 

 

Across from him Mike Wills rose out of his chair and slammed his leather folder on the table. “Director Travis, you need to have your man undergo a psych eval. Does he seriously think Homeland Security, or worse, the American people would ever tolerate, handing over such lethal weapons to a known criminal, fully expecting they could end up in cartel or Al Qaeda's hands?” 

 

“You stupid sonofabitch… don’t you get it… it's been happening for years. What the hell do you think the ATF did for Obama with Fast & Furious and El Chapo? Hell, Larabee isn’t inventing this deal, he’s just using something out of an existing BAFTE playbook…” Landon snarled. 

 

“Now you wait just a minute,” Buck stood up and pointing a finger at the DHS agent looking as though he was ready to throw a punch. “Where the hell were you boys in Boston? Or Chattanooga. Or San Bernardino?”

 

“Buck!” Chris warned, his voice low and commanding. “Enough, sit down.”

 

“Now, Chris, he’s the one that started slinging the mud. I’m just playing tit for tat. Ain’t like DHS’s hands are free of blood.”

 

While the attention was diverted to the men at the center of the table, Assistant Director Orin Travis stood and began to pace in the space left open at the end of the room, his hands tucked carefully behind his back. 

 

After a long moment, he spoke. 

 

“Gentlemen, if you are all quite finished maligning each other, might I remind you that we came here today to solve a problem, not to create more. And certainly not to shed blood amongst our own.” Travis began. “Now, perhaps if you all would convey a bit of respect to SAC Larabee that you seem to demand in return, he can further elaborate on the plan that he,  _ and I _ , have already discussed. I’m very much **_certain_ ** that the  **_full cooperation_ ** of each of your respective agencies will not only be given, but will be returned at some future date.”

 

It wasn’t often that Chris had the opportunity to watch Orin Travis pull rank or deliver such a thinly veiled threat, but when the grizzled old agent did, it put Larabee to mind of just how lethal the man must have been when he was an active operative. He stole a quick glance around the table and noted the barely concealed smirk on both Buck’s and Josiah’s faces, and he didn’t miss the utter disdain exhibited by both Landon and Wills. 

“Look, I know all of you have your own agenda in dealing with DeLeon. I get that. You all have to report back to your respective Directors and justify not only manpower but outcomes. And I get that none of you knows or likely gives a rat’s ass about Vin Tanner… but along the way, we can’t let assholes like DeLeon push us around to get what they want,” Chris implored. 

 

Joe Landon exhaled audibly and ran his hands through his graying, dark hair. “Agent Larabee, I’m sure all of us here understand and even sympathize with how you and your men feel in this situation. Hell, I doubt that there’s a one of us that hasn’t lost a teammate and friend in the line of duty. But do you hear yourself? You don’t want to give in to DeLeon’s demands, but that’s exactly what you’re doing. By giving him that shipment in exchange for Agent Tanner, you’re just encouraging him and every other sonofabitch lowlife like him, to go after law enforcement, or worse, maybe next time they grab a school bus full of kids until we hand over some chemical or biological weapon that they can turn loose on a big city.”

  
  


Chris shook his head. “Joe, I don’t disagree and I’m not suggesting that we’re ever going to bargain with POS like Roberto DeLeon. I’m not looking to set a precedence here. Just reserve your judgement until you hear the full plan, okay?”

 

Landon nodded and shortly the other division leaders nodded in agreement as well. Chris tried to hide his relief, although deep down, he truly didn’t give a fuck whether the other division agents went along with his plan or not. He didn’t really want or need their approval beyond what Orin directed him to do. Inter-agency dealings most often turned into a ginormous cluster-fuck, to quote Buck. Other than tapping into resources and intelligence - and wasn’t that what they had Ezra for - Larabee had little use or patience for many of his governmental counterparts. 

 

Feeling his patience beginning to wan, he decided it was best to perhaps let Standish himself use that golden tongue to explain what they had in store for the would-be cartel henchman. Turning to Ezra, he raised an eyebrow in signal and was grateful when the green eyes glinted with an almost eager acknowledgment. 

 

“One of my team, Agent Standish, spent the most time under with DeLeon’s operation. It also happens that he has some other -  _ resources _ \- that have shed some light on the whole cartel - DeLeon relationship. I’ll let him explain… Ezra.”

 

Larabee took his seat, suddenly feeling the weariness of the situation magnified by the lack of proper sleep and food pull him down into the fullness of the leather chair. He leaned into the wide chair, propping his head in his hand against the thickly padded armrest and tried to covertly massage away the ever-present headache at his temples. 

 

Ezra cleared his throat and began, elaborating on his knowledge of DeLeon’s operations as well as the strengths and weaknesses as he viewed them during his time undercover. Chris listened to the information that he had now heard for at least the fourth or fifth time. While he trusted Standish’s opinion and insights implicitly, the image of a beaten and nearly unconscious Vin Tanner was always just behind his closed eyes. 

 

It had been four days - at least- since Vin had been taken. The video, if DeLeon was to be believed, had been filmed on Saturday; the first day. How much worse would Tanner be by now? What other abuse had he endured at the hands of the delusional Mexican, all for the sake of his quest of being a part of some powerful syndicate. 

 

Larabee would never forgive himself the time lost while he spent the weekend tied up with busy work, all the while assuming that his best friend’s lack of communication was nothing more than some oversight on the introverted agent’s part. What a fool he’d been to think that Vin had just callously taken off without so much as a word or a message to at least one of them. It wasn’t as like it had been in the early days, with the seven little more than co-workers, each living separate lives and barely interacting beyond the demands of the job. 

 

And Tanner had been the one to change the most. Coming in from the fringes and accepting the other six as the surrogate family they’d become to him; the one he’d never really had, excluding maybe his Ranger team. But Chris had to admit, getting to know Vin had been a long process. Sure, he had some background, those few details that had been provided on the sniper’s OPF and some other information that hadn’t been blacked out in his DD214. Apparently, even Orin didn’t have the clearance to see some of the missions that were listed on Vin’s service record during his time in Afghanistan and other “locations not released.”

 

Slowly but surely though, the quiet sharpshooter had begun to divulge little bits about himself. Sharing pieces about his childhood, about his horrid life being shuffled from foster home to foster home, even hinting at the desperate desire to be a part of something lasting, to love and be loved in return, and more than anything, to simply feel wanted. 

 

It broke Chris’s heart, hearing some of the stories that Tanner shared. No one person should ever have to suffer the loss and emotional deprivation that Vin had before he was 18. And yet, he persevered. Tough was an understatement when it came to describing the whipcord lean agent. 

 

Larabee just prayed that the hardened and tested willpower could see the young man through a little longer. 

 

“A reliable source I have assures me that DeLeon, with or without the weapons, is not in favor with Carlos Jimenez. In fact, my source is very adamant that Jimenez’s is looking to take DeLeon out just to prove that nobody comes to Sinaloa without being invited and they don’t just take anyone, especially since they’ve already been trying to patch up relationships with both the Outlaws and the Pagans to help with trafficking both to the south and east, in and out of Denver.”

 

Ezra continued on delivering his information to the men assembled. Chris’s attention focused back in on the former FBI agent - now undercover man for his team- and he couldn’t help but look upon the skillful operator with pride. In fact, there weren’t six other men in all law enforcement he’d be more proud or rather choose to have his back than the men he proudly worked with day in and day out. They each had their quirks, no doubt about that. But they each not only excelled at what they did, giving above and beyond to the job. Still, it was more than that Larabee knew as Standish succinctly delivered his closing remarks. Every single one of them would give the last drop of blood in their body, their very last breath for the sake of the other. 

 

The only problem Chris had with that was that he wasn’t willing to lose any of them.

 

“So, you see, our plan hinges on the intel that once we turn over the ordnance to Mr. DeLeon, retrieving it will not be all that onerous since it is our determination that he will be more than occupied with the cartel’s unwanted attention.”

 

The room remained quiet as Standish finished and returned to his seat. Chris watched for reactions, anticipating resistance from at least one or two of the other division leaders. 

 

Landon was the first to speak. “What’s to ensure that you can get the weapons back once you recover your man? For that matter, who’s to say that DeLeon even gives up Tanner or that he’s even still alive?”

 

“It doesn’t matter, we don’t leave men behind,” Buck interjected.

 

Larabee shot him a careful side-glance before adding. “Agent Wilmington is correct. I feel confident that DeLeon cares more about getting the weapons than holding a federal agent.” 

 

“You’re playing a pretty high stakes game, Agent Larabee,” Mike Wills chirped in smugly. “I certainly hope your man is worth it. I certainly hope this doesn’t come back to bite all of us in the ass.”

 

“You know, Wills, the funny thing is,” Chris answered steadfastly, the heart in his chest was pounding so hard he wasn’t sure that those in the room couldn’t hear it despite his barely controlled temper and the timbre of his voice. “No matter whether we get Vin Tanner back alive or not, we  _ WILL _ bring him home and the irony is… that for all of you sitting there, debating the merits of this op… Vin wouldn’t hesitate one second to do whatever it took to bring a one of you back home.”

 

Without missing a beat or even waiting for AD Travis to adjourn the group, Chris pushed back his chair and rose. He hesitated only in the time it took to spare one last look at the dozen men seated around the conference table before heading for the exit. He didn’t care what they thought, the accuracy of his parting statement felt like a shroud, haunting him almost as if it was to become an omen or some awful prediction of what was to come. 

 

He sensed rather than heard someone coming up from behind him as he approached the elevator that would take him back to the Team 7 floor and his office, desperate for a bit of solitude where he could just close his eyes and maybe not see visions of his best friend’s bloody and bruised form. Instead, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder and Chris swung around defensively, ready to attack the unknown, unwanted touch.

 

It was Ryan Burke, the Regional DEA lead agent and Larabee could see that the man instantly withdraw his hand when he realized his error in making contact. Burke had been ominously quiet during the entire meeting and along with his less-than-regulation appearance, his demeanor had reminded Chris of Vin. 

 

“What do you want, Burke? Come to tell me educate me too on how this op is going to end in disaster?” Larabee snarled.

 

Burke looked serious and actually a bit panicked if Chris were to be honest. He shook his head and then stole a quick glance around them. 

 

“I need to speak with you… I - I couldn’t say anything in there… probably shouldn’t be saying anything now, but… well… look, tell me where we can talk… off the record.” 

 

Larabee didn’t reply for a long moment, suspicion, worry and fear all combined to make the hair on his neck stand on end while his stomach knotted and his skin prickled. A nervous DEA agent wasn’t something he wanted to deal with, especially one that had some secret information that he suddenly wanted to share “off the record.”

 

“Okay, I’ve got to tie up some things with my team first,” Chris answered, sparing a quick glance at his watch. “Do you know LaLoma on the end of Tremont?”

 

Burke nodded.

 

“Alright, it should be fairly empty before the dinner crowd and on a Tuesday. How about meeting there at 4?”

 

“Yeah, okay. But just you, nobody else, none of your team,” the DEA man worriedly insisted.

 

The ATF SAC’s paranoia went into overload, his gaze narrowing distrustfully. “What’s the deal, Burke? If you’re trying to pull some sort of interagency turf crap or worse, if you’re withholding information critical to this operation, playing some sort of game, you won't have to worry about me handing you over to AD Travis because there won’t be enough of your sorry ass left if you endanger my agent.”

 

Burke visibly paled which only worried Chris more. It wasn’t like any of the DEA guys to usually back down from him. Fibbies and DHS, sure… but DEA were renegades, especially those like Burke who had put in their time in the field. Whatever had the man spooked couldn’t be good. 

 

“I swear, Larabee, I’m not here to screw you or Tanner over. I’ve been in his shoes and… yeah, and I don’t wish that on nobody. Just meet me at 4… I’ll tell you what I can… what I know.”

 

With that the other agent spun and disappeared into the nearest elevator. Even if Chris had wanted to protest or demand more answers, the option was taken from him. He stood there speechless, his mind whirling with questions and possibilities, none of which he cared to dwell on. 

 

Grunting against the ever-present throbbing between his temples, he briefly closed his eyes, pulled in a deep breath in an effort to center himself and then stabbed the call button for the elevator down. 

  
  


 

*** M7 ***

 

 

Vin hung from the high metal rafters, his feet dangling several feet from the floor as though he was a side of beef left out to cure. He had no sense of how much time had passed since his last encounter with DeLeon or any of his henchmen, certainly they had paid him plenty of attention, working his body over with a variety of implements until he simply gave in to the darkness of unconsciousness. 

 

There was little victory in holding out any more. No moral or ethical trophy to be won by being defiant. But he still tried. Pride mostly, and because it was how he’d grown up. Learning to be self-reliant and to just never give in to those who thought they were more powerful because of being bigger or stronger.    
  


Vin never could stand bullies. 

 

But while he was more than willing and able to take a beating, he also wasn’t ashamed to let his mind and body shut down when enough was enough. And lately, enough had been more than enough. 

 

He was beaten and bruised over most of his body. Small lacerations covered his torso, his back and his legs. He’d long since gave up any sense of modesty when it came to his nakedness or even the need to urinate, except that peeing just caused him more pain; his kidneys having been the target of both physical pounding as well as numerous electrical shocks. 

 

He’d no doubt that his urine was more concentrated from the lack of water. It smelled awful, not that he didn’t after four days of neglect. And it burned horribly, both coming out and when it hit any of the open wound on his legs. 

 

Tanner held no misgivings that if and when he escaped, the road to recovery was going to be a long one. He could almost hear Nathan’s admonishments now, scolding him every time he so much as strained or failed to follow the simplest of doctor’s orders. 

 

Nathan, and by extension Chris and all the rest, were the mothers he never really had the chance to experience. Watching out for him, making sure he ate well, took care of himself, and for all the frequency that it occurred, made sure he recovered after any illness or injury. 

 

Hell, he wouldn’t put it past a one of them to kiss boo-boos if it was required. 

 

_ They’d have their work cut out for them now… _ He thought grimly. 

 

Chuckling slightly, he pictured each man and their reaction to seeing him now. JD would freak out from all the blood and bruises. Vin couldn’t see all of himself, but what he couldn’t, he could feel. Knowing the youngest agent, he wouldn’t handle very well the mess or the thought of how badly Vin had been treated. 

 

Nathan, of course, would be the professional. Methodical and direct, he would focus on what needed to be done. Prioritizing all the hurts, burying his emotions and making sure that Vin was cared for until he was out of the woods. Then he would angst over what he’d missed or could’ve done differently. 

 

Josiah wouldn’t be much different. He’d help Nate, but he’d add the extra mental comfort. Assessing and beginning to provide comfort to what he’d assume was the need to treat the psychological damage that had been inflicted. Too bad he’d never be able to even scratch the surface of all the hurts that Vin had suffered in that category. There simply was no way that Tanner was willing or able to lay bare those wounds or subject himself to the necessary treatment. 

 

Ezra was the wild card. Stoic by nature, rivaled only by Tanner himself. He’d most likely hang back quietly and reserve his reaction to supplying any needs when the others weren’t observing. He’d be there during the quiet hours, visiting, helping out when no one would notice. And he’s staunchly deny to any that would comment on his actions, just how much he cared; but he does and Vin knows this because he’s just the same way. Both of them lacking in anything resembling a normal childhood and the basic tenets of love. 

 

Of course, there’d be Buck. Bucklin would be a blend of righteous indignation and physical comfort. Buck was purely physical, moreso than any of the others. He needed to touch, if for no other reason than to assure himself that Vin was there, alive, and back with the team. 

 

For Vin, that was always the hard part. Touching was okay, but he had his limits, his space. But for Buck, he made exceptions. So after the hugs, he knew there would be anger and threats of retaliation. That was just Buck’s way. 

 

And then there would be Larabee. Chris was the Four Horsemen all combined into one. Death, famine, war and pestilence, Larabee’s wrath would be unequaled in response to the taking and torture of one of his men. While Vin would like to think that he was no different than any of the others, he knew that there was a special bond between him and Chris; something that would make the team leader go just a little more crazy than normal. 

 

He’d have to stay conscious and get well fast in order to protect Chris, to keep him from seeking retribution and thereby jeopardizing his own  well-being and career. After all, nothing that happened to Vin would ever be worth that. 

 

Vin smiled wearily as he thought of his friends. His body was slowly numbing to the position, his shoulders, stressed by having his weight hanging by his wrists felt as though they would tear from the sockets. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to hold his head up, his neck muscles strained from the abuse. 

 

If he remained still, he could bear the numbness, allowing it to wash over him and override the throbbing pain that pulsed in so many parts of his body. But that was not to be. 

 

At random intervals, one of DeLeon’s men would walk through the open warehouse and push past him. Sometimes, it was just a casual bump, but enough to get his body swinging like a pendulum, his weight putting even more stress on his damaged wrists and shoulders. 

 

Other times, they would stop and take a moment to work him over, using their fists or even discarded pieces of wood or other debris. The abuse continued. They beat him, he suffered, they laughed, he passed out. 

 

In his mind, he fought to hold on, all the while his body succumbed to the damage. 

 

 

*** M7 ***

 

 

 

Chris reached LaLoma’s just before 4pm. The place was virtually deserted; as he expected it to be. Folks just didn’t frequent the downtown eateries this early and not on a Tuesday. 

 

Glancing about, he looked to see if Burke was already there and seated, but a quick review of the dining room did not reveal the DEA agent. In fact, the only other patrons were an older couple seated at a booth near the far side of the restaurant. 

 

The hostess approached him, seeking to seat him and he offered her a cold smile and asked to be seated nearer the more darkened rear of the establishment. She directed him to a table and Chris purposefully chose a chair that put his back to the wall and allowed him to see anyone entering the establishment. 

 

A waitress drifted over to the table, eager to take his order. He had no appetite, his stomach had been sour ever since he’d seen the video on the flashdrive, the images constantly replaying in his head made sure that he wouldn’t be eating any time soon. 

 

Instead, he ordered whiskey, neat. Thankful that LaLoma’s had a full bar and wishing that he could just have the girl bring back a full bottle instead of a three finger’s glass full. It reminded him that he’d have to replace the nearly empty bottle he kept in the bottom right drawer of his desk. That one having taken the brunt of his anger and stress since Monday. 

 

The rye momentarily stole his breath away but Chris relished the burn as it scorched its way down his throat and into his empty stomach. It was punishment buried in pleasure and he felt guilty that he could enjoy such a simple gratification while Vin… 

 

“Goddammit, Vin…” he cursed softly. “Why weren’t we more careful. Shoulda’ seen this comin’.”

 

But deep down inside, the blond knew that there was nothing that could have changed or prevented what had happened. Their job was inherently risky. How many times had one of them been injured in the line of duty? How many vigils had been spent in some sterile hospital waiting room or by the bedside hoping, praying that one or the other of them would pull through _ this time _ … just one more time?

 

Chris sighed deeply. How much longer could he do this? How much more could he bear sacrificing. Hadn’t he given enough? The thought of losing Vin, who had become more than just a friend but his best friend, the baby brother he’d never had, was simply unbearable. Larabee just didn’t think he had the strength to get past that. 

 

Truth was, he didn’t think he could bear losing any of them. Every single one of the six had wormed their way into his life and had become part of his family. Granted, Buck had been there forever. But the rest had all taken up some unique role that would be sorely missed if it were suddenly absent. 

 

Chris just couldn’t imagine his life, much less doing the job, without the presence of these six in it. 

 

Draining the glass he was about to signal the waitress for another when the door to the restaurant opened exposing the front to the late afternoon sunlight. Drawing his attention to the hostess, he immediately noted Ryan Burke by the agent’s dress as well as his nervous behavior. 

 

Watching carefully, Larabee didn’t miss the other agent’s almost paranoid demeanor as he made his way to the table where Chris was waiting. Burke’s eyes roamed about the mostly empty establishment, casing the place for any threats and most likely scoping out the nearest exits. 

 

The DEA man dropped into the seat to the left of Chris, placing him where he could still see the majority of the restaurant and more importantly the main entrance. No doubt, time, experience and prior undercover work had made the agent too experienced with leaving his back unprotected or worse, assuming that the ATF SAC would be reliable to guard it. 

 

Chris noted that Burke’s earlier nervousness was still present as the dark haired man kept his right hand down in his lap and within easy reach of the weapon that was likely holstered just inside his wrinkled suit jacket. 

 

“You want a drink? Looks like you could use one.” Chris offered, waving two fingers at the nearby server. 

 

Burke nodded his appreciation when moments later the alcohol was delivered. Chris waited until the other man had a chance to take what he hoped was a nerve-calming drink, but he doubted even a dozen such beverages would have much effect on the high-strung man. 

 

He delayed a couple long moments more before even his own impatience couldn’t be stalled any longer. 

 

“So, you had information for me? Something pertinent to this case and Vin?” he pushed. 

 

Burke looked up, his brown eyes wide, panic clearly evident. 

 

“I… I don’t know…” he stammered out. 

 

Chris’s patience expired and the tenuous hold on being remotely collegial was lost. 

 

“Bullshit!” the blond team leader cried out lowly. “You know something. You called this meeting. I swear to God, if you’re fucking around with me Burke, I’ll make the worst  _ sicario _ look like a friggin’ choir boy. You got me?”

 

He didn’t think it was possible, but the already colorless and unnerved fed seemed to pale even more. The DEA contact just nodded rapidly and seemed to shrink a bit away from the threatening glare of the blond. Chris didn’t let up. He leaned in a little further his right hand snaking out to grasp the silverware placed in front of the other man. Toying with the steak knife, Larabee continued. 

 

“So what information do you have? What has it got to do with Tanner? Tell me now or I’m out of here and making a phone call first to my team and then to Director Travis as I leave.”

 

Ryan Burke was no stranger to violent men. He’d spent his early career in the military, cutting his teeth on covert ops in places that were permanently blacked out on both his record and every action report; including the ones that went all the way to the top. When he left, someone thought it would be a natural progression for him to continue his clandestine work as an operative for the DEA, after all, he’d already had more in-country time south of the U.S. border than many of his peers, spoke fluent spanish and could blend in with most Central American natives as though he’d been born there. 

 

So no, people like SAC Larabee really didn’t intimidate him. Well, not usually. 

 

But that had been before. Before he’d had seen men slaughtered in the supposed security of their own homes. Before some of his own agents had sold out and set up their own partners, leading them like unsuspecting lambs to the slaughter all for money.

 

And intimidation? Sure, he’d learned to be intimidated from the likes of Felix Beltran and the psychopath, Dimas Gonzalez. Both men had been on the State Department’s Most Wanted list for drug trafficking, both were high-ranking lieutenants under El Chapo. When they’d first captured the infamous cartel leader, although technically they were never involved, Guzman was barely held for just over a year before he managed to escape via an underground tunnel. 

 

When next they’d caught up with the Sinaloa leader, Beltran and Gonzalez along with dozens of armed cartel members took on a detachment of Mexican Marines, reinforced by a group of DEA undercover agents and members of a covert black ops team. In the end, they’d re-captured him, but not before five people were killed and several were wounded. Or at least that was the  _ official  _ report. 

 

What never hit the news, or any other official channels, were the threats and actual attacks that several of the El Chapo assault team had experienced. It ranged from slaughtered pets, to drive-by shootings; and that was the relatively benign stuff. 

 

The nightmares began when Hal Bolton’s father was was abducted and covered in hot asphalt. It didn’t kill him, not immediately. He survived an agonizing 35 hours before his heart and lungs gave out. 

 

Then there was Steve McMillian. He’d been one of the agents coordinating the efforts between SEMAR, the DEA and other U.S. black-ops teams.  McMillian was found in his secluded Montana cabin, methodically dismembered. Each piece of the former Delta Force member turned DEA undercover man, had been carefully wrapped in butcher paper, labeled and had a shipping sticker with the home addresses of eight other high-ranking DEA leaders attached. 

 

Yet even as shocking as that had been, the icing on the cake for Burke had been the day that he’d come home late from the office, not an unusual occurrence, to find his wife naked and tied to the bed. She wasn’t dead, although that might have been kinder. 

 

She was beyond traumatised, she was catatonic. Covered in blood, she’d been raped, sodomized and left like so much cast-off trash. Burke gathered her to him, shielding her to his chest as he wept. The message had been crystal clear. 

 

“Talk, Burke. Work with me here.” Chris begged. “I’m just trying to get one of my men back. He’s my friend… my best friend. He’s a good man and doesn’t deserve this.”

 

Ryan Burke drew in a haggard breath. He’d had friends once. Probably even had someone he considered a best friend. But that seemed like ages ago. Still, he remembered what it was like to feel the responsibility for keeping an eye out for others under his watch. 

 

“Larabee, look… it’s not like I don’t give a damn - I do. You can’t begin to know how much I’ve given to this fucking job…” the weary man started, running his left hand through hair in need of a trim. 

 

Chris was unforgiving, his own past coming back and leaving him less than sympathetic to whatever hardships this fed had endured. 

 

“Yeah, we all have our sleepless nights and coping mechanisms,” he responded somewhat spitefully with a glance to the watch on his wrist. This was getting nowhere and only wasting precious time that Vin did not have. 

 

“Okay… fine. You want to know, well here it is. It’s not like my life is worth a damn anymore. Fucking Chris Larabee and his team… not like anyone or anything is as precious as your goddamn Magnificent 7.” Burke shot back in accusation. He reached into his pocket and fumbled to retrieve something. 

 

Larabee was taken aback by the outburst. He knew that some of the other agencies held a bit of envy toward his team because of the special favors they were often accorded. But it was only because his boys worked their asses off, took the risks and cleared cases at a higher rate than many of their counterparts. 

 

They didn’t ask to be hated or liked. They didn’t really even care about respect. But they and he especially, wouldn’t tolerate out and out disrespect for doing their job and doing it well. 

 

“Look Burke, I know I’m an asshole. Actually, I’ll go so far as to admit to being a first class prick when it comes right down to it. But there’s nothing I won’t do for those six men… do you understand me? We’ve covered each other’s backs and shared blood. And they’re good men. There’s not a one of them that wouldn’t take a bullet for you even after hearing you shit on their good name and reputation. So cut the pissing contest. I get that enough from DHS. You don’t have to like me or them, but be a fucking decent human being and help me out here.”

 

Ryan Burke was humbled. He stared across at Chris Larabee and slowly nodded, regretting how time and burnout had turned him into something he despised. He used to be Chris Larabee. Now, he was something less. 

 

Taking a deep breath he began. 

 

“We’ve got a man inside DeLeon’s operation. We’ve had him there from the get-go. It was all set to pull him out after the raid, but when it was found that not all the munitions were recovered, we left him there hoping we could keep tabs on what was going to happen with those missiles.”

 

Chris felt the first glimmer of hope spark to life inside him. Questions streamed through his mind but he struggled to form them in a coherent order. 

 

“Burke… that’s… why… have you made contact? Has your man seen Vin?” he rambled. 

 

The DEA agent shook his head ruefully. “No… no… I’m sorry. So sorry, Larabee.”

 

Chris paused, his eyes narrowing at the odd response and Burke’s solemn, almost sad reply. 

 

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked cautiously, almost fearfully. 

 

Burke swallowed hard. He was signing his own death certificate. 

 

“Be careful with what I tell you next, Chris, because it can get Tanner and your entire team killed.”

 

Larabee drained the last of his whiskey and nodded for the agent to continue. 

 

“There’s a cartel agent infiltrated within the agency. He knows everything. He knows about your plans, knows about your team, knows everything about you, them, me, everybody in that room today. And you can likely bet he knows about our undercover agent too.” 

 

“Sonofabitch!” Chris exclaimed. His mind was whirling now. Everything he thought he knew, all the plans, the brief hope he had for rescuing Vin; it had all just been destroyed in a blink of an eye.

 

“You can bet he’s reported everything back to DeLeon at least and more likely to his bosses within Sinaloa,” Burke added.

 

Larabee shook his head in disbelief. “How did this happen? How did he get in so deep? How do you know all this and not take him out? Jesus Christ, Ryan! Your career… you know better. How could you keep a lid on this?”

 

Burke’s head dropped as his hand withdrew the pistol that had been tucked inside his suit jacket. 

 

“Who do you think got him in?” he asked, his voice filled with regret and finality. 

 

Before Chris could react, the spent agent lifted his weapon to his head and pulled the trigger. The discharge made Chris jump and sent the employees and the few patrons scrambling for cover. 

 

Larabee struggled with the shock of what had just happened, of all he’d just heard. Training kicked in and he drew out his badge and weapon, cleared Burke’s gun and tried to reassure the other civilians that everything was “all-right.” 

 

Pulling out his cell phone, he quickly called Orin, followed it up with a call to Buck to get the team back to the conference room and waited as the sirens signaled DPD’s arrival. 

 

Glancing down at Ryan Burke’s slumped and lifeless body, Chris reached up and rubbed his head just below his temples. He thought about asking the waitress for another glass of whiskey but figured that wouldn’t look too good during his interview with the detectives or later with the DEA or ATF IA guys. 

 

_ As if this day hadn’t already gone to hell... _

 

Suddenly exhausted, he dropped into his vacated chair and stared at the pooling blood beneath Burke’s head, his lifeless eyes looking out as though they sought forgiveness. 

 

Chris shook his head, anger and frustration boiling up inside him. 

 

“Fuck you…” he grumbled at the lifeless agent across the table. “Just fuck you and fuck it all to hell.”

 

_ Tbc.... _


	6. Day 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that has been reading and leaving comments and kudos...

 

_ DAY 5 _

 

 

Vin Tanner regained consciousness in new surroundings, or at the least, he wasn’t still hanging from the warehouse rafters by the thick rope as he had been when he last remembered. His new confines appeared to still be somewhere within the warehouse, the cold, concrete floor providing that clue. He was lying on his right side, still naked and definitely freezing despite the apparent heat and lack of air circulation inside the facility. 

 

The particular space he occupied didn’t seem overly large, but Vin couldn’t rightly determine the size, his vision being more obscured than functional at present. He sensed it, feeling the walls near proximity to his body as he always did in smaller, tighter confines. 

 

Claustrophobia was wonderful that way.

 

Shifting his body, he found that he also was no longer restrained, and that surprised him. Although, as he considered everything, maybe not so much. He’d been worked over pretty well, the pain radiating from every extremity  and pounding into his core. Vin was hard-pressed to pick any one spot that hurt worse than another. But that was a blessing too. When pain was overwhelming, it often became numbing at the same time. A sort of sensory overload.

 

His biggest need was water or any sort of fluids. Not entirely sure how long he’d been held captive, his body was definitely feeling the effects of dehydration. Tanner had learned early in his military career what to watch for and the importance of staving off the initial signals or risking losing control on a mission - or worse - critical injury that he couldn’t overcome. 

 

He was headed there now. The beatings and cutting had been bad enough, yet he’d survived that before. The added shock torture had not only taken a good portion of his strength reserves, but the current had actually screwed with the electrolytes within his muscles and cells, adding to an already messed-up system. Vin oddly remembered his SERE training and lectures on how torture could be survived, but only if it didn’t begin to drain on the overall health and condition of the soldier. The trick was in how well the torturer did their job almost as much as how well the victim could withstand the effects.

 

Tanner was pretty healthy, he kept in great shape and despite all the grief he got from his teammates for eating anything that didn’t crawl away from him fast enough, he had a metabolism that most would kill for. On the downside, that same high-speed vitality was now running out of fuel and it didn’t seem likely that his captor was going to be sympathetic or generous in remedying that problem any time soon. 

 

Running his tongue over a cracked and blood-encrusted bottom lip, Vin tried to ignore the copper taste that filled his mouth. It was barely enough to produce a little saliva, and mostly only made his stomach roll. He shifted to his back, allowing a soft groan that would have preferred to have been a louder scream; he just wouldn’t give anyone who might be watching or listening the satisfaction. 

 

The movement set off a crescendo of pain the sharpshooter wouldn’t have thought possible. The sides of his ribcage protested the twisting and now the deeper breathing that he was forced to take in order to manage the increased agony. The only blessing was his aching back was now against the cool concrete of the floor. Of course, that was also serving to further sap any warmth from him as well. 

 

“F-f-fo-cus… s’um...thin… g-g-ott’a...s-s’ta…’liv… ‘til C-c’ris n’ boys… ge’ m-me…” 

 

Vin knew the regimen, knew what his training had drilled into him for survival under these sorts of conditions. It was all about keeping his head together, not letting his captors break him down mentally. Physical abuse was nothing but pain and deprivation, he could manage that, could push it down and segregate it away. But learning to manage the psychological effects, that was the real trick. 

 

Especially as his body started to deteriorate. 

 

Which made getting water and keeping the dehydration at bay all the more critical. 

 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been here, wherever here was, so far. But his best guess was that it had been at least a couple of days. And knowing what DeLeon’s proposal had been, Vin felt sure that he was going to be in this for the long haul. No way was the Agency going to give in to those specific demands. Larabee would rant and rave, would likely even call in every favor he could, but the hard facts were that even Chris Larabee would be powerless to sway the higher-ups to exchange such powerful weapons for one agent; especially with the threat that those same weapons might eventually land in cartel hands or worse. 

 

Vin knew the mantra, “no dealing for hostages”; in fact, he’d been subject to that during his time in Afghanistan and other places that would be forever redacted from his military record. He knew all too well what it was like to sit in dark, dank places, cut off from anything that was remotely familiar and barely cling to any hope of seeing an American face or hearing his native language again. Rescue could be an awful word, meaningless and empty,  and there were times that he hated it almost as much as he had growing up hating words like trust and love and family. 

 

But that was before. Thing were different now. He was part of something, had something he could call family, even if it wasn’t family in the most traditional sense of the word. The ATF agent knew what it meant to feel wanted, needed, cared about, after spending most of his young life being used and tossed aside. And that meant that clinging to the faith that those six men, his brothers, would come for him, meant that rescue was more than a hope. 

 

Tanner felt a glimmer of promise spark inside his chest. He still knew that the odds weren’t favorable, the risks high and the policies and procedures of the federal government stacked against any sort of sanctioned action. But he also had to count on the power of his six brothers, men that simply didn’t know the meaning of the word “quit.” 

 

That meant that he couldn’t quit either. Gathering determination and what reserves of strength he could pull together, the weary sharpshooter listed to his side in order to get his hands underneath him. Lying there in the dark and cold wasn’t going to help his cause and he desperately needed something to drink. Just maybe there was a pipe or some sort of water source within the space. 

 

He pushed up with a grunt, feeling muscles protest against any further use after such misuse, but Vin controlled his breathing in order to focus away from the pain. He managed to get to his knees despite the tidal wave of dizziness that swept over him, pausing there and idly wondering if he looked like some beaten and abused dog from one of those late night ASPCA ads he was always seeing and managed to feel guilty for not donating to. He silently promised to send some money next chance he had, no creature should feel so starved, naked and freezing; beaten and left abandoned as he was feeling at the moment. 

 

“Ain’ n-no d-dog,” he stammered out from chattering, pain-clenched jaws. 

 

Vin was breathless by the time he achieved something that resembled an upright position. In reality, he was on his knees with his upper body more or less hunched over and tilted to the right, but at least he wasn’t flat out and face down on the floor. Ignoring the vertigo that filled his head and caused him to waver like a flag in a stiff breeze, Tanner peeled open his eyes as far as the condition of his eyelids would permit and tried to center his vision on the immediate surroundings. 

 

The room, although calling it that might have been a stretch to even his very extensive imagination and experience with such things, was little more than a storage space, likely used for either chemicals or cleaning supplies if the smells and stains on the floor were anything to go by. There was a small window placed high up on the wall, maybe twenty or so feet above his head, and while Vin was grateful to see a slim vein of light shining through it, he was disheartened to realize it offered no means of immediate escape or even view to the outside. 

 

In fact, at the moment, just twisting his neck to look up so sharply was additional pain the ATF sharpshooter could barely tolerate. There was no point in straining to stare at something that merely taunted him with the temptation of his beloved wilderness or worse; freedom. 

 

But really, for all Vin knew, he might not even be in Denver. DeLeon could have absconded to nearly anywhere after abducting him. Certainly the warehouse had given him no clue and while DeLeon’s thugs all spoke English, that left a lot of potential locations open. Still, it only made sense that if the power-hungry arms dealer had in fact sent his demands to the ATF, then he’d have to had remained nearby to arrange the exchange.

 

Or so Vin could hope. 

 

Forcing his focus back to the situation at hand, the young agent pushed aside thoughts of rescue and the consequences of the trade. Managing to make it upright, he steadied himself by keeping a flat palm against the nearest wall. Taking a tentative step forward, the cool concrete felt like hot asphalt against the bare soles of his feet. The repeated electrical shocks left the extremities feeling as though they were on fire, the nerves still igniting with pain while the muscles were barely under his conscious control. The rest of his body wasn’t much better, and he could only hope that the Mexican with the cattle prod didn’t make a reappearance any time soon. 

  
  


Vin struggled forward, one arm tucked tightly against his side, while he leaned and slowly shuffled his way about the empty space. For the most part, the room was completely bare, no furniture or any sign of left-over materials for whatever had once been stored there. Other than a bit of trash, empty food wrappers and the occasional cigarette butt, the only other noticeable thing was the presence of rat droppings. 

 

The sharpshooter cringed at the thought of the vermin. Even after his years of living in  _ less than  _ traditional accommodations, he never relished having to put up with rats, cockroaches and the like. He was nearly fanatic about maintaining a pest-free abode at his current apartment, despite the fact that the old tenement was situated in one of the oldest sections of Denver. It might not be much, but it was his, and it was clean. He’d never live in trash again. 

 

_ Never be treated like it either…  _ Vin reminded himself as he made slow progress along the filthy wall. They could beat and abuse him, but no one would ever make him feel like a bottom feeder ever again. 

 

The thought spurred him on, temporarily shifting his attention away from the pain and discomfort each step was causing. His fingertips skimmed across large pipe extending out from the wall that he’d been hugging. At first, it felt like nothing special, but as his trained hands carefully reached out to examine it, skilled and sensitive fingers noted that it was cooler than the rest of the wall. The hope that maybe there was water inside caused his hands to move both up and downwards in search for a valve or even a connector or break that could be manipulated to his advantage. 

 

Just as the desperate agent was about to give up, he felt what seemed to be a smaller line tapped into the main just a few inches above where it disappeared into the floor. The secondary pipe trailed off into the shadows of the room and with his blurred vision, Vin couldn’t determine where exactly it went, but it didn’t matter, his hope lay with possibly detaching the connection point. 

 

With a harsh grunt despite trying to ease himself down to the floor, Vin settled his bare rear end on the damp concrete floor just a couple of feet away from where the pipe burrowed below. Scooting forward until his feet lay flat against the smaller, horizontal line, he then braced his hands and straightened his arms using them as supports to hold his upper body firm. 

 

The position was agonizing; his chest protested being stretched out even as his lower abdomen added its own complaint to being compressed by the pressure of his bunched-up legs. Taking as deep of a breath as he could tolerate, Tanner pressed his bare feet against the small pipe. 

 

It didn’t move other than to roll up into the soft arch of his feet. 

 

Or rather Vin’s feet merely slipped up on the pipe when it refused to budge. 

 

Frustrated, the captive agent stilled himself and drew in another deep lungful of air. Mustering all the force he could, Vin exerted all the power he had in his muscular thighs to try to make the old duct move. 

 

Just as he felt his legs begin to tremble and the breath he was holding begin to fail, the pipe seemed to give a fraction. Fearful that it was just his sore and tortured feet tricking him, Vin relented just slightly and with a last burst of energy partly borne of desperation, he slammed both feet into the thin metal as hard as he could. 

 

There was a small snap in his left foot followed by the sound of a larger metallic crack coming from the connection between the main line and the secondary pipe. Almost immediately, a soft spray mist began to drizzle from the broken joint. Ignoring the additional pain radiating from his ankle, Vin scuttled forward, cupping his hands to capture the liquid. 

 

It was cool to his touch and wasn’t irritating as any other “non-water” fluid might be. Giving it a quick sniff, he couldn’t detect any odors that might mean something toxic was in the lines. Next thing was to just bite the bullet and give it a taste. 

 

His hands were shaking, Vin’s excessive thirst drove him to drink while training shouted from the back of his mind to use caution. Desperation won out - but barely - and he took a tentative sip. The water had a tinge of brine to it, but Vin had certainly had worse during his time as a Ranger. Certainly no one had ever perfected the after-taste of water purified by any of the crap they handed out in the Army. 

 

But desperate times and all that… 

 

He reached again towards the open pipe, nearly tempted to put his mouth against it in order to get as much as possible. Knowing that guzzling too much too fast wasn’t the smartest move, Vin made himself take another slow, steady handful. He was working on a third drink of the refreshing water when the door to the stark space burst open and the room was flooded with both bright light and bodies. 

 

Tanner quickly drew back, pushing his haggard frame against the wall into a defensive position. His chest heaving, he struggled to hide his obvious alarm, but the tense musculature and overall posture gave him away. 

 

DeLeon approached him, surrounded by his entourage. The tall hispanic was well dressed in a custom tuxedo and looking as though he was either just coming from or going to some sort of lavish event. He eyed the cowed agent critically, a satisfied smirk appearing on his olive-brown face. 

 

“My… my… Agent Tanner. I must say, you’re looking quite pathetic. Definitely  _ not _ the specimen of a federal agent, much less a top marksmen or former Army Ranger,” the criminal leader mocked. 

 

Vin offered back the best undaunted glare he could muster in response. “Yeah, well, the hospitality is’n z’actly four star. Gonna have some strong words wi’ the management ‘bout my ‘commodations.” His voice cracked from the abuse and lack of nourishment. 

 

DeLeon chuckled. “Such a strong sense of humor. Good to see that you’re still in good spirits, Agent Tanner.” He paused letting out a deep sigh. “But I’m afraid it simply won’t last. While you’ve shown incredible strength and fortitude these past few days, I cannot permit this…  _ coddling _ … to continue. Especially now that we’re so close to brokering the final terms  of my deal.”

 

While he tried to ignore the gunrunner’s rambling, Vin couldn’t help but take notice when he mentioned finalizing any deal. 

 

“I see that got your attention,” the Mexican continued. “Are you surprised that your agency would consider negotiating for you?”

 

“S’ not a done deal yet, Robbie,” Vin snarled back. “B’sides, ya’ think Larabee and the team is just gonna let you walk away with all them weapons in exchange for me? Ya’ better think again.”

 

DeLeon burst into loud laughter that filled the small space. 

 

“Oh, my dear Agent Tanner. I have no worries at all. I know they will. And as for you… well, let’s just say that they’ll be too busy chasing their missing teammate to be concerned about what they just traded back.”

 

Tanner tensed even more. He hadn’t expected the criminal to hold to any sort of fair dealing, not especially when DeLeon was set to weasel his way into the Denver branch of Sinaloa. Vin knew he’d be lucky to come out of this alive, even moreso if he didn’t end up butchered and made some sort of example by the cartel to other Federal agencies to keep out of their business. His only hope had been a rapid, lethal response that took out DeLeon and his gang before he could be traded or handed over. 

 

But as the time marched on, and hearing the underworld businessman’s threats, Vin was slowly coming to realize that  _ any _ sort of hope was dwindling. 

 

“If’n you’re tryin’ to scare me, I tol’ ya’ b’fore… better n’ you have taken their pound a’ flesh… n’ I’m still here.”

 

DeLeon nodded thoughtfully, the confident smile still on his face. “I’ve seen the scars on your body, Agent Tanner. I’ve no doubt after these past four days that you’ve known extreme pain and misery in your young life. Such a shame really. To give so much and not be appreciated. Had you worked for someone like me, I would have taken much better care of you for the loyalty you’ve shown.”

 

“Yeah, you’ve taken such good care o’ me so far. Don’ know how I’ll ev’r thank ya’,” Vin replied sarcastically. 

 

“Yes, well, but you are not one of my men, now are you? More's the pity… And I won’t waste either of our times trying to bribe or cajole you into changing alliances. No sense in insulting either of us.  So, we’ll continue with my original plan. You simply are the bait. The unfortunate tool or casualty… the end to my means. And as such… and because I see no point in wasting an opportunity to both prove my dedication and loyalty to my forthcoming associates, I’m afraid that using you to demonstrate the prowess of certain practitioners in my organization is in order.”

 

Vin shook his head, his loose and tangled hair flopped messily about his face. He let out a snort of laughter and boldly challenged his captor with his eyes. 

 

“Call it what it is…” he snarled. “You’s just gonna torture me some more?”

 

DeLeon motioned with a small wave of his right hand to the men standing just behind him. They moved forward as a unit. 

 

“If you’d like to be so crass… why yes, Agent Tanner. I’m going to have my men do everything they can just short of killing you… right up to the point that we receive my goods back. Then and only then… will we let you go.” 

 

Four men reached down and grabbed the beaten federal agent by each of his extremities. Vin resisted, but lacking the strength, he had little fight to offer the stronger and physically overpowering force. 

 

As they hauled him up and pulled him forward, DeLeon stepped back, more concerned about having his clothing soiled by coming in contact with the unwashed captive. He stayed close enough to observe continuing with the sadistic smile and soft chuckle as another of the men moved around behind the still struggling Tanner and wrapped a wet towel around his face. 

 

Vin knew what was coming. And while he’d never been tortured by this method directly, he’d seen it used and had come close enough to being drowned to never want to experience it first hand. 

 

“I see you were a bit thirsty, eh’ Agent Tanner?” DeLeon queried. “How rude of me not to offer you something to quench your thirst. I believe we’ll rectify that now.”

 

The sniper felt the sharp pain of someone kicking him in the back of his right knee. The impact was full to the posterior of the joint and his leg collapsed, unable to bear his weight. He dropped immediately, lacking balance, his left leg still extended even though his left foot and ankle shook from the earlier contact with the water pipe. 

 

_ “Te partire la cara, pendejo!”  _ a deep voice whispered into Vin’s ear from behind. 

 

He braced himself for what was about to happen, but it did little to stop the overall shock and pain. In an instant, he was yanked onto his back, legs and arms stretched out taut to each side. Unable to see through the thick, wet cloth wrapped around his head, Vin could only feel the massive weight of someone’s body pressing down to hold his upper body and neck in position. 

 

Despite the lack of talking, Vin could hear nothing over the rapid pounding of his own heart echoing in his chest and ears. The whisperer pulled his head back slightly, his hair catching on the cold concrete. 

 

It was coming, he knew. Trying to remain as calm as he could be, Vin drew in as deep a breath as his chest would hold despite the previous battering and the weight of the body pressed against it. 

 

Anxiety and dread stole his ability to focus. The pounding in his head blanked out even DeLeon’s maniacal laughter.

 

And it came… 

 

Brutally cold water. A flash flood of the liquid filling his nose, pouring over his face and eventually inundating his mouth when there was no where else for it to go. 

 

It enveloped him like molten fog; everywhere, encompassing, filling him and wrapping around him. He swallowed, choked, sputtered and gagged. And when he couldn’t do that, he inhaled it into his lungs and suffocated. 

 

Still, the water came. It flowed out of his mouth and nose, down across his cheeks and chin, eyes and forehead and soaked his already wet hair. It ran past his neck onto his upper chest and cascaded onto the floor beneath him, seeping underneath his back into already open wounds on his shoulders and lower body.  

 

When a breath came - finally - he gasped and drew in precious air that mixed with the remnants of water that remained in his nose and mouth. He tried to spit them out, but Whisper Man quickly slapped the wet cloth back in place. The process was repeated and he could do nothing to prevent the tidal rush of water from returning. 

 

Vin knew he couldn’t keep this up, not repeatedly. He had to get his mind focused on his SERE training in order to hold out; there was no long-term survival for waterboarding. Not if the captors truly intended on killing or incapacitating him by this method. At best, they would significantly weaken him; at worse, he’d risk aspirative pneumonia from whatever bug he’d inhale from the water. 

 

No, he had to take control. Control his fear, control his panic and anxiety. He had to find his headspace just like before with the shockprod. 

 

The wet rag disappeared once again, but this time Tanner kept his eyes closed and forced himself to inhale deeply and controlled. He pushed the fear down, knowing that it would only deplete his oxygen that much faster and make him fight against the torture. Hyperventilation would hold him slightly longer by allowing him to decrease the carbon dioxide concentration in his blood, forcing his need to take a breath. 

 

In theory of course…

 

His training had been rough and they’d certainly tried to simulate conditions as close to realistic as possible, but there had always been a line that was never crossed. Vin knew somewhere in the back of his mind that no matter how harsh and brutal the conditions had been during SERE, he never felt like his life was in jeopardy. With no palpable threat, he knew he could and would survive no matter what. 

 

But this was different. There were no guarantees. No voice in the back of his head to assure him that it was “only training.” 

 

He was in hostile territory, surrounded by enemies. Not a friend in sight. And these enemies not only wanted to do him harm, but they were enjoying his pain; getting off on watching him suffer. 

 

Vin let his mind drift, instead of focusing on DeLeon’s sneering, smug face or the nameless, harsh faces of the others that gleefully served pain like old grandmothers with fresh-baked cookies, the agent managed to let the the next gush of water take him away to another place. 

 

Instead of falling prey to the sensation of drowning, the sharpshooter allowed himself to imagine the crystal blue waters of the lake near the far western edge of Chris’s property. Fed by a stream that originated up in the nearby mountains, the lake was perpetually cold, even in the hottest months of the summer. It was a favorite camping spot for the entire team; picturesque, tranquil, and simply a place to retreat from all the pressure that the city and the job tended to demand of them. 

 

Tanner could see the blue skies mirrored in the glassy surface of the lake. Could feel the icy embrace of the water against his skin as he floated in its liquid grasp. Soft murmurs of the team whispered in his ears as they tended to the camp or fished nearby; usually only JD or Buck being brave enough to venture into the chilled pool. 

 

And Larabee, a figure in black at the water’s edge, most often seated with his booted feet crossed at the ankles and his gaze cast out across the expanse. Watching, thinking, reflecting on all and yet more at peace than Vin usually ever saw the team leader. 

 

He saw them all. At the lake, together, family. It was all he ever wanted in life. A place to belong, a sense of family or brothers that he cared about and in return cared about him equally. And he’d found it. Revelled in it and cherished it with every breath he took. 

 

To say that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for these six men, and by extension, the people they cared about, was more than an understatement. There just weren’t words to describe what they meant to him. 

 

They were his refuge, his strength, his...

 

“...’t hell is he doing?” 

 

A sharp voice raised above lulling images in Vin’s mind. He didn’t have the chance to recognize or process the voice or the words before a hard strike landed to his throat, quickly followed by another to his upper abdomen. 

 

The effect was immediate and debilitating. His body jackknifed upward, gasping to draw in air despite the recent flood of water that had been filling his mouth, nose and airways. 

 

Vin gulped ineffectively, his throat spasming and making him look like some odd fish pulled from the water and unable to breathe. Apparently, his captors found it humorous as well, if the laughter surrounding him was any indication of the faces he was making as he struggled to take in air. 

 

He tried to rise up, but strong arms held him back and all Vin could think of was that if they put that rag over his face right now, he was as good as dead. There was no way he’d survive another bucket of water, not while he couldn’t protect a damaged trachea or worse. 

 

“Well, that was certainly effective,” DeLeon taunted, standing over the prone agent and staring directly down at the suffering young man. “Tell me, Agent Tanner, what would you do to keep me from ordering my men from continuing right now?” 

 

Writhing on the cold, wet concrete floor, Vin tried desperately to muster the strength to defy the smarmy criminal. His determination was still strong, his need to hold out deeply rooted in his personality. But his physical being was weakened, his body quickly overruling his mind. 

 

“P-p-lease…” he struggled to get out past a ravaged throat and lungs that could barely push air in or out. His lithe frame convulsed between lack of sufficient oxygen and the absolute cold. 

 

DeLeon howled with laughter. Overjoyed at the young agent’s condition and pitiful plea. 

 

“Yes? Yes?” he encouraged. “Is there something more you want to add? Something you want to beg for?”

 

Vin had just enough strength to offer up a dark glare, but it was nowhere as potent as it had been or would have been had he been able to command more energy or defiance. 

 

“A spark remains I see.” 

 

And with a casual nod toward Whisper Man, Vin was the recipient of multiple kicks to his unprotected back. The force of the blows rolled him over and propelled him across the floor. Something snapped, audibly, and as the pain engulfed him as thoroughly as the water had before, he couldn’t be sure if it was his ribs or his spine that had finally given way.

 

“S-s-st-sto-op… jus’... f-fuck’n... s-s-st’op,” he pleaded brokenly. 

 

Lacking the strength or even the ability to curl up and prevent any further blows, all the long-haired shooter could manage was to simply lay there and manage to pull in one haggard gasp after another. 

 

For a moment the room became quiet. The only sound present was the labored breathing of the tortured captive. Even DeLeon’s maniacal laughter had ceased as the sadistic gunrunner bent down over the beaten agent. 

 

“Well, I didn’t think it would come to this, Agent Tanner. But I’ll give you credit, you did hold out much longer than any average man would. After all, five days, no food or water and pretty much constant torment. Tell me, did you even realize that you’ve been here that long? Have you given up hope that you’re going to be rescued?”

 

Vin, lying nearly facedown against the wet floor, barely had the strength to lift his head. Instead, he tilted his face, the nearest eye, flashing a bloodshot blue orb upward at his captor. 

 

DeLeon threw his head back with glee. “You still think you’re going to be freed.” 

 

“D’on c-care…” Vin stammered back. 

 

“Really? Have you given up hope or do you value your life so little that you’d give up so easily?. Or maybe… deep down, you really do know that your team simply doesn’t give a damn about you after all?” 

 

“Y-yer’ g-gunna … k-kill me… n’way,” the ATF sharpshooter defiantly responded. 

 

The Mexican became thoughtful, shaking his head as he considered the man lying beneath him. 

 

“Why I would never…” he said after a moment. “Of course, as I said once before, there’s no guarantee what might happen once my associates take possession of you.”

 

Vin heard the words, knew what the threat meant. He’d never assumed for a moment that he’d escape alive from the madman’s clutches, certainly not with the cartel involved. Still, he’d hoped that just maybe if he couldn’t be rescued, at least he might not survive to become a pawn for Sinaloa. 

 

Weakly, he pushed over to his back, heaving huge breaths that didn’t seem to make it into his lungs. If he could’ve spit, he would’ve gladly done anything to soil that god-awful tuxedo and further irritate the would-be cartel man. 

 

As it was, his stomach chose that moment to rid itself of all the excess fluid he'd been forced to ingest and Vin violently heaved across the nearest trouser leg of DeLeon’s pristine suit. 

 

“Fuck…… You....” Vin managed clearly as his throat cleared, his smirk revealing red-stained teeth. 

 

DeLeon lurched back, reminding Tanner of when he came too close to Ezra with a fruit-filled pastry. The undercover agent always so cautious about his appearance and doubly concerned about his high-end wardrobe. 

 

Vin closed his eyes and waited for the blows to rain down on him, letting loose his own laughter despite the pain it caused while he listened to DeLeon rant and fumble about in the small room. 

 

_ Score one for the good guy… _

 

But miraculously the pain never came. Instead, Vin felt himself roughly grabbed and hauled up from the floor as DeLeon angrily shouted orders to his men.

 

Hanging limply, his legs unable to support him, Tanner merely directed his blurred gaze upward from beneath his mop of tangled and matted hair. The would-be cartel man was manically pacing about, far enough away from the bloodied marksmen, upset over the condition of his garments and apparently equally as rattled by the brief show of defiance.  

 

He wanted to be smug, but in truth, he knew it was only a meager victory; his fate had been sealed from the start. He wished he could offer some sort of fight, give something back to these men that had robbed him of his spirit. But they had also taken his strength. 

 

“You think you’ll win? You think you can survive what’s in store for you, Tanner?” DeLeon snarled, spittle spraying from his mouth. “I’m going to send you back to Larabee in small plastic bags.” 

 

Vin snorted from beneath the veil of hair. “Don’ m-matter… none. Larabee… s’ gonna f-feed ya’ to … t-th’ p-pigs… af’ta he… n’ th’ b-boys… t-tear y’ balls off n’ s-shove… ‘em down… yer’ throat.”

 

The Mexican raged. How dare this broken man feign any sort of contempt or insubordination when he could barely stand let alone draw in a breath. He’d show the stubborn agent. 

 

“Take him!” he shouted. “Let Dante’ spend some time with Agent Tanner. Let’s see if he’s still so audacious afterward.”

 

They drug him from the small room, out past the large open warehouse and into another space that unlike the previous one was well-lit and occupied by a metal table and a couple of chairs. 

 

He was tossed, forcefully thrown into the room and landing hard in one of the corners against the wall when he couldn’t prevent his body from becoming little more than a human ball. It was tempting to just curl up and lay there, easier to just pull his legs up into a fetal position and try to protect his belly and genitals from the next round of whatever torture was coming. 

 

Common sense screamed at him to assume that position, but in fact, it hurt too much to draw his extremities in; and he couldn’t breath as it was. Rolling to his back, he slowly managed to push himself up until he was wedged into the corner. The support seemed to make drawing in air easier and gave him a moment’s respite for all the agony he was physically suffering. 

 

Closing his eyes, Vin tried to concentrate on just pulling in air. On letting his body sink into a place that pain became secondary to all other immediate needs. 

 

It might have been hours or minutes or even seconds when he heard the door to the room squeak announcing someone's entry. Tanner wasn’t concerned enough to look up; whoever it was, it was foe rather than friend. But when the footfalls across the concrete signalled someone of small stature rather than one of the usual large brutes that were his typical playmates, Vin couldn’t help but open his eyes and take a peek. 

 

He nearly laughed at the sight. 

 

Standing at the table was a slight man; definitely hispanic and dressed in the garb befitting one of DeLeon’s thugs, but there any similarity to gunrunner or cartel member ended. Less than five foot five in height and probably only one-hundred and thirty pounds, soaking wet and wearing a thick parka, Vin’s newly arrived visitor didn’t look like much of a threat. 

 

“Dante’?” he croaked out. 

 

The small man merely nodded in response but placed a small duffle onto the table and began removing items from inside. 

 

Vin huffed air in disbelief and humor. “ Siempre son los pequeños* …” he said ruefully. 

 

The man looked up and offered a wry smile. “Si… Senor Tanner. Si…”

 

*  _ Translation: _ It’s always the small ones

  
  
  


*** M7 ***

  
  


Buck sat at his desk and stared blankly at the calendar that rested up on the left-hand corner. It was one of those tear-off puppy calendars, featuring some new and cuddly looking ball of fur for each day of the year. While it sat beside another desk calendar, this one featuring swimsuit models, a gift from J.D. last Christmas, the puppy calendar always managed to catch his attention each day despite its scantily clad deskmate. 

 

It had been a gift from Vin. Not for Christmas or his birthday or really any special occasion, but rather one of those random things the quiet man did from time to time for one or the other of the team on a spare of the moment occasion. Thinking back on the day, Buck had come into work, feet dragging and generally in an uncharacteristically dark mood due mostly to a current relationship with a young woman that had been something steady yet out of the blue, had ended. 

 

He’d anticipated catching a fair amount of teasing from the guys, he being the resident “ladies man” and all-knowing encyclopedia of the fairer sex. After all, he was the one who was supposed to love ‘em and leave ‘em; not be the one loved and left. 

 

Sure enough, J.D. hadn’t resisted ribbing him about how he had lost his touch, his “animal magnetism” having dwindled to something of “animal Elmer’s glue”; sticky but not really binding. 

 

Josiah had joined in, adding comments about how he was slipping with age; sure he could sympathize and offered his sage advice on the matter. Even Nathan had suggested that Buck might want to seek medical attention for possible ED problems and that it was not something he should be embarrassed about at “his age.”

 

The real icing on the cake was when Chris had gently patted him on the back, smiled softly and asked him if he wanted to spend the weekend out at the ranch. The assumption being that Buck no longer had any reason, desire or lacked the  ability to spend his off time pursuing someone to join him in any extracurricular activities during his off-time. Buck was not only insulted, but offended that his long-time friend seemed to think that one rejection was going to have such a massive impact on his lifestyle. 

 

And then there had been Vin. 

 

Their team sharpshooter was notorious for being as sneaky in leading a gag or prank as he was stealthy in his sniper skills. You never saw it coming, unless that’s what he intended. So when two or three days passed and Tanner had yet to make a comment to Buck about his recent romantic misfortune, the mustached agent began to worry about what the lanky Texan was cooking up. 

 

His paranoia only added to his poor mood and that’s what likely spurred Vin on to the action he eventually took. Thursday morning, Buck arrived as his usual and noticed the package laying on his desk, covered in what looked like comics from the Sunday paper and wrapped by a child - if the tape and poorly folded edges were anything to go by. 

 

Ever wary, Buck carefully lifted the small gift and noticed that underneath a Butterfinger candy bar - his favorite - had been attached. Pulling the chocolate away from the package, he glanced around the office space looking to see who of his teammates were about or possibly watching him from behind some cover. There didn’t appear to be anyone else around. Yet, he could see that Josiah and Nathan were around by the glow of their computers. And there was no doubt that Vin and Chris had arrived at least an hour earlier than the rest of the team; chronically the first ones in daily. 

 

That left only J.D. and Ezra. His young, former roommate, now engaged and living with his long-time girlfriend, would be due in any minute; assuming he hadn’t wrapped himself around a light post or another car with that stupid donor-cycle of his. 

 

Standish, hell, the undercover agent was never to be counted on before 10am. No way this was his work.

 

So WIlmington had been left with no other choice than to either ignore the apparent gift or to take a chances and open it. 

 

Casting caution to the wind -  _ after all, who would pull a prank and offer chocolate - unless of course the chocolate was to lull him into a sense of false-security _ \- Buck tore open the end of the wrapping. He cringed inwardly, waiting for something to explode or spray glitter or ink on him. When it didn’t happen, he was filled with both relief and confusion. 

 

Finishing with the remaining newspaper, he uncovered a thick, square block along with a single piece of paper that was folded over on top. Carefully removing the small note, he immediately saw that the block underneath was a desk calendar, the daily peel off variety with this one featuring a year’s worth of puppies as noted by the title on top. 

 

Buck looked at the calendar oddly, trying to figure out the joke as he unfolded the piece of paper. His eyes landed on the hand-written scrawl and instantly recognized the giver. 

 

Vin…

 

There weren’t many words on the paper, but what met Buck’s eyes nearly brought his heart up to his throat. 

 

_ Sorry ‘bout your lady friend. Been down that road, know it hurts, no sense in sayin’ stupid shit about it. Just thought I’d give ya’ something to take your mind off it for a bit. Some good candy and a good dog. Dog’s never betray ya’- keep that in mind. _

 

So here he was, staring at a calendar that Vin had got him to always remind him that there were things out there that would never let him down. Dogs… Dogs and no-account, pranking, mischievous, thoughtful, faithful, best-damned-friend-in-the-whole world, brother....

 

Buck swallowed hard as emotion threatened to make the moisture forming at the corner of his eyes develop into full-fledged tears. Five days, nearly a week by most people’s terms, that Vin had been taken from them. While he held out every hope that they’d get him back, he couldn’t help think of what his young friend was going through. 

 

They didn’t come tougher than Vin Tanner. Buck knew that first-hand. He’d seen the scars marking the abuse the team sniper had gone through both as a ward of the state of Texas and later as a voluntary service member of the country’s military. 

 

He knew that Vin had never blinked when it came to putting himself in harm’s way to protect or prevent any pain from befalling one of the other six, especially Chris. The boy simply had no sense of self-preservation. 

 

Despite his penchant for mischief, there were few others that could match him for heart. Just when Buck expected Tanner to behave a certain way, lo’ and behold, Vin would pull something like the whole calendar thing, and he’d be caught off-guard by the sharpshooter’s depth of compassion. 

 

All this just frustrated him even more. And if he was frustrated, he knew Chris was downright ready to have a stroke. 

 

Larabee had called him last night after meeting Ryan Burke at a nearby restaurant. He knew Chris was stressed out before he left the office for the meeting, but his voice when he called seemed to indicate that the SAC had gone from stressed to virtually homicidal. 

 

At first, Buck couldn’t imagine what might have occurred during the meet. But as Chris fumbled to speak, he could hear the background noises of other law enforcement people carrying on what amounted to evidence collection and interviews. 

 

After managing to get his long-time friend to settle down enough to communicate with any clarity, Buck gathered from Chris the information that Burke had divulged before committing suicide. He understood why his boss was now so freaked out. If the situation had seemed dire before, now it was beyond risky and lethally dangerous not just for Vin but for the rest of them too. 

 

While there was always a risk of someone internally selling information, the thought of actually having a mole within their ranks, someone intimate with their operations and plans, just felt like a violation. He knew Chris hated traitors, and had no regrets for Ryan Burke. But the dead agent had certainly left them with some dangerous news to act on.

 

That’s why he was here now, waiting for Chris to arrive. Larabee had requested that they connect first, just the two of them, and then bring in the rest of the team. It wasn’t that Chris didn’t trust Josiah, Nathan, J.D. or Ezra, more that it was that he simply needed to get his head together before he brought the recent incident and information to the rest of the guys. 

 

Buck understood. He knew after all these years how Chris worked. If Vin hadn’t been missing, most likely it would have been an early morning meeting between the sniper and the SAC. But circumstances what they were, Buck didn’t mind being the surrogate; he took no offense. 

 

Taking a careful sip of the black coffee he’d bought on his way in, he reached out and gently tore off yesterday’s page from the calendar. Today greeted him with the piercing blue eyes of a Siberian Husky pup playing in the snow. 

 

Buck snorted at the irony of the picture. The blue eyes certainly could be a match for Vin’s, but there the resemblance ended. While the dog was furry enough, Vin was more of an Afghan Hound with that long draping hair of his. But as he considered, he could admit that Vin did wear enough layers - like a Husky - maybe there was some similarity. 

 

Of course, no one would ever confuse the Texan for a cold-weather animal. No, more like Vin would be some sort of hairless, warm-weather loving dog. Maybe a chihuahua? 

 

The thought of Vin as some ankle-biting, nipping, yappy snip of a mutt made Buck laugh out loud. No, no way Vin was a chihuahua, cold weather or not. He was more of a mix of Labrador Retriever, German Shepherd and Pitbull.  Yep, Buck thought to himself, if he ever came across a picture of that puppy on the calendar, that would be Vin. 

 

By now, he was laughing full-out. The image of some gangly, happy-go-lucky dog that had a penchant for protecting the family (the team) with the ferocity of a pitbull created a weird picture in his head. Buck envisioned a black and brown, shaggy coated thing on four legs but with Vin’s face and big pitbull jaws and teeth. 

 

He was still roaring with laughter, nearly falling out of his desk chair when Chris strode into the bullpen. While he never saw the blond arrive, to say that the SAC was more than oddly perplexed by the mustached agent’s behavior was an understatement. 

 

Chris stood there for a full fifteen seconds watching Buck continue to laugh at something unknown. Under normal circumstances, he might have been happy to see his old friend looking so carefree and jovial, but any chance at mirth was simply lost to him at the moment. He watched for a second or two more before stress, lack of sleep and his own temper got the better of him. 

 

“Seriously, Buck? Vin might be fighting for his life at this very moment, our plans, hell… our entire agency has likely been compromised, and you’re sitting here carrying on like some kid watching Southpark?”

 

Wilmington looked up, quickly sitting upright in his chair, his laughter coming to an abrupt halt as he took in the utter serious conveyed on Larabee’s face. 

 

“Chris, c’mon pard, you gotta know I didn’t mean no harm or disrespect. Actually, I was just thinking about Vin… damn…” Buck paused for a long moment, his gaze cast away where Larabee couldn’t see his face as he took in a deep, shuddering breath. After a moment, his chin dropped and he continued  shaking his head. “I’m just not acceptin’ anything but getting that boy back in any condition but the way we last saw him.”

 

Chris softened, the sincerity in Buck’s voice making him realize that he wasn’t the only one being so powerfully affected by Vin’s abduction. He’d been so wrapped up in his own misery and self-recrimination, that he hadn’t taken the time to look after the remaining five men or consider the impact this was having on them. 

 

He should’ve known better, he knew these men, knew how much they all lived in each other’s back pockets most of the time. They rarely hid anything from each other, shared almost everything they had if one of them needed something. Even Ezra, for all his posturing and pretense, was there whenever one of the others needed something he could supply. And he supposed, if anyone one of them was going to be taking this whole thing with Vin harder than most, it was likely the undercover man. 

 

Besides himself, Vin and Ezra shared a certain bond that had little to do with their differing senses of fashion, culture or bank accounts. It was more that the two younger agents could empathize with each other’s less-than-ideal upbringing. Neither had exactly thrived, yet both had become survivors; essentially developing into the men they were today. 

 

“So, have you heard anything more since last night? What does Orin say?” Buck asked, interrupting Chris’s quiet introspective. 

 

He blinked rapidly, forcing his thoughts back to the matter at hand and sighed dejectedly, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. 

 

“No, not really. I spoke with Orin again this morning on the drive in. He’s pretty pissed. Mostly at the thought that Burke helped someone connected with the cartel infiltrate the DEA. But really, I don’t think we can be sure that the we’re secure even in BAFTE either. That’s what’s worrying him the most.”

 

Buck nodded in agreement as he rose from his chair. “I’ll tell you what, that sonofabitch died way too easy. Friggin’ coward,” he grumbled, following Chris towards his office. 

 

“Yeah, well we’ll probably never know all the secrets he took to the grave, but I’m guessing he had some pretty powerful pressure being put on him. Travis said that there was some suspicion that the cartel got to his family,” The lean SAC explained as he unlocked the door leading to his dark sanctuary. 

 

“Still, he could’ve gotten protective custody, could’ve gone into WitSec… he didn’t have to sell out his team, or any of the rest of us.”

 

Chris stared blankly at his long-time friend and tried to block out memories of his own painfully, dark days following the death of Sarah and Adam. What would he have done? Who might he have sacrificed or “sold out” if he could have prevented their loss? He’d like to think there would have been a way to be faithful to both his family and his colleagues, but truth be told, he wasn’t sure he would have been if he would have had any warning or been put in a situation of choosing between the two. 

 

Buck sensed his friend’s deep turmoil, reading him easily despite the lack of words. 

 

“Now Chris, don’t you even go comparing yourself to that piece of shit, Burke. You never even came close to giving up one of your team… and you never will.”

 

Larabee humphed air, raising his eyebrows as he met Wilmington’s eyes directly. 

 

“You don’t think so, huh?”

 

The dark-haired agent shook his head steadfastly. 

 

“Just ain’t in ya’, son.”

 

Chris dropped into his chair and looked up at Buck but really didn’t connect eye to eye. 

 

“You just don’t know, Buck,” he began, shaking his head sadly. “There was a point when I’m not sure how far I would have gone or who I would’ve sacrificed if I could’ve got the bastards that took my family. Hell, I would’ve sold my soul to Satan himself, if it would’ve only given me my little boy back.”

 

“Yeah, but you didn’t,” Wilmington reminded his old friend and superior, taking a seat across from the large desk. “That’s the difference about you, Chris. You never let the pain take you that far. You might have gone pretty damn dark for yourself there for a while, but you never did or would’ve done anything that would hurt anyone else.”

 

Larabee laughed. “I came close…”

 

“Close don’t count in this,” Buck reminded him.

 

Chris drew in a deep breath as he absorbed the seriousness in his long-time cohort face. Few knew him as well as Buck did. Few had stuck by his side, had tolerated his dark, foul moods; especially in the days, weeks and months following Sarah’s and Adam’s death. Even now, it was only Buck and Vin that truly put up with his strict sense of right and wrong, with his moodiness, and even with his lack of ability to see humor in most things. It was only those two who had the patience and love to attempt to draw him out or to overlook and easily forgive him when he too frequently abused their close relationship.

 

And didn’t that made it all the worse; this current situation he found himself? There simply was no way that Chris was willing or able to risk losing one of the few people remaining that held such a critical place in his life and his heart. He just didn’t think he could bear it. 

 

“We gotta get Vin back,” he stated softly but steadfastly. It wasn’t specifically directed at Buck and was more an oath for his own edification than anything else. 

 

Buck nodded solemnly and there was a deafening quiet for several minutes between the two men. 

 

“So, what’s this meeting for, Boss?” Buck asked, having noted the determined yet pained tone to the blond’s voice. He knew that while Chris had managed to cling to his sanity by the barest of strings; the SAC might not be so lucky this go round. For all his assurances, Buck knew that losing any one of his team could send Chris off the deep-end of drinking and near-sociopathic behavior. Losing Vin, he’d be downright homicidal. 

 

Chris shuffled through some papers that he had just taken from his briefcase and spread them out across the top of his desk. He then pulled out a thick manilla folder and placed that on top. 

 

“I need to get my head on straight about a couple of things… and, we need to put together a new plan that stays right here… with us. We just can’t risk Vin’s life or anyone else’s by letting this get out to whoever has infiltrated ours or any of the other divisions.”

 

Buck nodded in agreement and leaned forward, his forearms resting on the solid oak desk so he could see whatever the team lead had to show. 

 

“So… what’s your plan?” he asked. 

 

Larabee opened the folder and nudged a glossy 8x10 photograph across the top of the workspace. Buck picked it up and looked it over critically. 

 

The picture showed the images of three men, all hispanic, congregated near a dark-colored SUV. It seemed obvious that they were all involved in some sort of covert dealing, but the picture quality was grainy, taken from a distance. 

 

“Who am I looking at?” Wilmington asked.

 

“The picture sucks, I know. I printed it off my computer late last night so the quality isn’t the best. Between that and the distance it was shot from, you can barely see any distinguishing features. But the point is, what you’re looking at is a DEA undercover agent within DeLeon’s operations,” Larabee told him. 

 

Buck’s eyes opened wide and he looked up from the picture, his face filled with shock. 

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he exclaimed. If he’d thought the original news had been bad, this latest news just seemed like the proverbial icing on the cake. 

 

Chris smirked sardonically. “Yep, the hits just keep on comin’,” he quipped. 

 

“And Burke knew this the whole time?”

 

“Apparently. But look, before you go getting even more pissed off at a dead guy, I think in this case, he really was just trying to protect one of his team as much as he could.”

 

The dark-haired agent shook his thick mop adding a scoffing huff. “Whatever!” he hissed. “So which one of these assholes is it?”

 

Chris stabbed a finger at the photo, pointing out the figure on the far right. There was nothing much special about the man, he looked to be average height, his hair dark hanging just above the collar of the plaid flannel shirt he was wearing. 

 

“He’s muscle?”

 

“Seems to be. Or at least, he hasn’t risen far enough in the ranks to be doing anything more than provide back up to DeLeon’s money man.”

 

“So, does Orin have a name on him? Can we get to him? Is he going to be able to help us with Vin? Surely he knows that Vin’s a federal agent? Isn’t he reporting back to some sort of control?” Buck fired off.

 

“Orin gave me his name and a copy of his PF. But this is beyond Eyes Only… I imagine only four or five people in all Denver DEA branch much less beyond have seen this file,” Chris explained. 

 

“I don’t understand, Chris. Are you tellin’ me that this guy has been under all this time and nobody knows or is giving him any direction. Surely somebody tee’d him up when we ran the initial bust on DeLeon? Surely they didn’t leave him hangin’?”

 

Larabee shrugged. “Orin doesn’t know who he was reporting to. Maybe it was Burke, but I doubt it. Obviously, no one knew about him when we ran the initial op. And if anybody in the room knew about him during that last powwow, they sure didn’t give anything away. The point now is that we have a wildcard in play and along with the mole, we have to rethink our next move.”

 

WIlmington sat back in his seat, his hand rubbing through his thick brown-black hair.

 

“So, not only do we have to get Vin out, somehow we have get this guy out too? And just maybe we can do it without some cartel spy finding out and blowing the whistle on the whole gig and getting all of us killed?”

 

Chris raised his eyebrows adding in a wry sort of smirk with his lips. 

 

“When has anything  _ ever _ been easy for us?” 

 

Buck snorted. “Never, but damn, Chris. This is gonna get ugly. Uglier than we thought.”

 

Chris nodded quietly before responding. “I know, Buck, I know. Ugly, bloody and the body count is gonna be high. But I don’t rightly give a fuck at this point who goes out in a body bag so long as it isn’t Vin or any of you boys. So, you wanna tell me again, just how different I am from Burke?”

 

“He saved his own ass, Chris…”

  
“And I’m here to save Vin’s and all of yours… and I don’t care who else gets burned in the process. Obviously, no one gives a damn about us. That’s why I called you in first. We’re going dark on this. And I wanted… needed a little reality check before we put any plans into action. But whatever we come up with, it's staying  _ right here _ … I’’m not sending it up the chain.”

 

The junior agent looked at his long-time friend and mentor with wide eyes of disbelief. 

 

“Not even Orin?” he asked tentatively.

 

“Plausible deniability,” Chris answered quietly. “It’s all gonna be on me. It’s the only way to make sure that there’s no breach in security.”

 

“So, it’s just about the security then?” Buck asked suspiciously. He knew Chris was blaming himself for not having checked on Vin sooner; days having passed that the sharpshooter had been missing before anyone had known. He also knew that Chris wouldn’t, couldn’t tolerate the loss of another person so deeply ingrained in his life. 

 

Oh sure, Chris might act like a tough loner, hardened by life and uncaring, but Buck knew better. He saw how much the slightly older man had opened his home up to the others for cookouts, football games and a whole assortment of team get-togethers. Hell, the seven spent more time at his ranch than they often did at their own places. 

 

And the camaraderie went well beyond the team. It covered girlfriends, spouses like Raine, or pseudo-family like Nettie and Casey, Orin and Evie and Mary and Billy. In fact, the ranch was something of a safe haven. A place where all of them could just come and go, relax and unwind, recuperate when needed or tie one on and recover. 

 

But the real telltale sign that gave away his oldest friend was how Chris took so much time and care in picking out gifts. It didn’t matter if it was a birthday or Christmas, each one of them received something that bespoke of their personality or the connection they had with Larabee. There were never gag gifts, no cheap last minute lottery tickets or gift cards to a favorite restaurant. Just well-thought out presents, some large, some small, but each representing the time and effort put into them and signifying the place the recipient held in Chris’s life. 

 

“If anybody asks, sure…” Chris answered after a moment. “But I’ll not risk another of my team on the chance that either some fucker inside or outside the organization accidentally or on purpose, rats us out.”

 

“Okay then… you got a plan?”

 

Chris smiled, white teeth gleaming like a shark even as his green eyes narrowed with an almost sadistic glee. 

 

“Yeah, I got something I think might work,” he answered.

 

Buck knew that look, knew it well. After countless military missions together, even more ops in the field, he was well acquainted with Chris Larabee when the man was in hunter-mode. There were few things on this earth that could carry an air of lethality quite like the determined man seated across from him. 

 

“You gonna share with the class?” Buck teased, a wry grin creasing his handsome face. 

 

Larabee drew in a slow, deep breath and nodded, his fingers moving through the mass of papers on his desk once again. He ended up pulling out another picture, pausing to stare at it for a long moment before sliding it over to the other man. 

 

“DeLeon?” Buck exclaimed, eyes wide. The dark-haired agent shook his head in disbelief. “You’re plan is to use DeLeon? Sorry pard, I know we’ve all been working this overtime and then some, but maybe you forgot that we busted his ass just a few weeks ago? I think he’s going to not only remember us, but I’m pretty sure he’s the guy holding Vin and all the cards right now.”

 

Chris’s smile grew broader, his eyes narrowed even more as he merely nodded in agreement with his subordinate’s assessment. 

 

“I know,” he replied snidely. “He’ll never see it comin’.”

 

 

Tbc...

 


	7. Day 6

 

 

_ *** Day 6 *** _

 

 

The nagging tingle was just above and slightly behind his left ear; almost constant and something between an itch and the sensation of a bug slowly crawling across his skin. Some rational part of his mind; if there was any bit of him that still clung to any sense of sane and rational now, tried to convince himself that it was just a tiny bead of sweat; a miniscule droplet that his beaten and otherwise abused and mistreated body had somehow managed to produce that was meandering along the back of his neck. But the exhausted and deprived portion of his psyche gave way to conjuring all sorts of irrational, yet frighteningly believable manner of things that could have taken up residence on his body.  Each of them seeking to inflict their own brand of pain to what he’d already endured. 

 

Still, in those brief moments of clarity, like now, he considered what a miracle really it really was.  After so many days of no food and very little water, he was surely so dehydrated that it was doubtful his body would part with such precious fluid so willingly. But wasn't that the irony?  

 

Stretched as taut as he was, muscles pushed to the point of endurance and then past that tolerance, his body reacted in the only way left to it. Autonomic responses kicked in when flight or fight were no longer an option. Although had he be given the choice, he’d gladly have chosen fight or flight at this point, assuming he had any ability at all to put up any sort of fight. 

 

So, there seemed to be a decent sheen of perspiration covering his naked frame. Or at least that’s what he thought he was able to feel slowly trickling across certain portions of his skin as he  _ maintained _ his current position on the cold, concrete floor. 

 

The itch behind his ear intensified and Vin concentrated on trying to crane his head slightly sideways in an effort to move, dislodge, shift,  _ ANYTHING _ to make the sensation go away. But considering his neck was basically tied down, flat to the top of his knees, which were folded beneath him; thighs atop shins, chest to top of his quads, arms stretch and secured behind his back; he was unable to move even the barest amount.

 

It was a stress position, used to elicit information or in this case, simply torture. And it was working. For Vin, it wasn’t so much the numbing, pins and needles feeling that had long ago consumed him from the waist down. No, this position was absolute agony on his back. 

 

Forced to hunch over, it put even more pressure on his spine and the slight curvature that had plagued him since his teens. Usually, it wasn’t a problem. It had never given him any issues in the Army, never interfered with his shooting or other BAFTE duties, or for that matter had never even been an impact during any of his more extreme extracurricular hobbies like climbing or kayaking. But admittedly, long rides, weird contortions, or even getting a bit too rough during any of the Team’s football or hockey games could nearly put him in traction for a week. 

 

He wasn’t sure if Dante’ had spotted the weakness and was capitalizing on it or if the hispanic torturer just lucked out and found one of the best ways to put Vin down for good. At this rate, even if an opportunity to escape landed right in his lap, Tanner was pretty sure he’d barely be able to stand upright, much less take on any guards or put up any reasonable effort to defend himself. 

 

“F-fi-nne…d-damn me-ss… y’... got y’erself… n’ now,”  he rasped to himself, his voice rough from abuse and lack of water. 

 

With no concept of time, Vin now had lost any ability to even recognize how long he’d been trapped in this position. It might have been minutes, although he doubted it, or hours or even days. But that part of his mind that was still able to focus rationally was reasonably skeptical about having been tied up like a rodeo calf for more than a few hours. If days had passed, he was certain that all circulation to his legs and arms would have been cut off to the point of irreparable damage. DeLeon might eventually kill him, but it seemed that the arms dealer didn’t want to have to deal with a cripple in the meantime. 

 

Vin huffed at the thought. A mental image of being pushed in a wheelchair before the long line of a firing squad elicited a soft chuckle from the abused man. 

 

He had to admit, of all the ways he could imagine going out; that wasn’t one of them. No, the weary sharpshooter had always assumed that he’d die in the line of duty, but not at the hands of a torturer. He’d never once figured that he’d meet his end by any other means than a bullet, but that it would come in the act of protecting one of his brothers. 

 

This, lying here, weak and feeling pathetic and hopeless, was never once in Vin’s mind of how things could possibly end for him. It all felt like such a waste. And if Chris really did trade DeLeon’s weapons back to try and save him, he wasn’t even sure if Larabee would get much in return. 

 

One thing was certain. All the work the team had put in would have been for nothing and all of the weapons would be back in the gunrunner’s hands to sell to the highest bidder or worse, to deliver to the cartel. Vin groaned, his eyes crimped tightly shut as he agonized over feeling so helpless. 

 

_ God… jus’ let me die here… Don’ let Chris n’ the boys get caught up in some firefight tryin’ to rescue my sorry ass… _

  
  


A shiver ran through his body, the cold of the room still seeking to drain any residual warmth from him. Vin cried out, unable to stifle his response to the contracting muscles and the resulting pain. 

 

He didn’t know how much more he could take. Despite all his training, even despite having endured a childhood with conditions not far removed than what he’d been experiencing under DeLeon’s possession, Vin was at a point where mentally, if not physically, he had little left to fight with. 

 

DeLeon and his thugs had thrown every sort of physical torture at him, and he’d taken it. Sometimes stoically, often not, instead defiantly trading back whatever verbal barb he could muster at the time. 

 

This last round of torment seemed to have been his limit. There’d been no escaping the stress position Dante had placed him in; not without resistance he reminded himself - and a great deal of additional pain. He’d put up a valiant fight, just like he’d done the countless times before. But the small Mexican torturer had been prepared. 

 

Huddled in the corner, Vin had made no attempt to move seeking the sanctuary of the wall at his back. He never underestimated the size of any opponent, but when Dante approached him with nothing in his hand but a rolled up towel, the ATF agent felt a moment of hope. 

 

He should’ve known better.

 

The first blow landed across both his shins and felt as though the bones in his lower legs might have been shattered. He cried out in pain and would have slammed his head back against the wall had it not already been firmly wedged there already. Instead, Vin pressed his palms flat to the floor at his sides and struggled to draw air into his lungs that suddenly seemed bereft of the ability to expand. 

 

As his brain fought to simultaneously process the pain while also recognizing the threat, another strike took out his right arm. Vin never had the chance to block or prevent it, the solidly rolled, wet towel hit him like a baseball bat. 

 

This time he collapsed to his side, rolling tightly even though it left his back mostly exposed. Vin couldn’t rationally care, he just knew he wouldn’t withstand taking a blow to his chest or head. 

 

In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Dante worked him over, perfecting placing his strikes on Vin’s body where they would weaken and create the most pain. There was no rhythm to the blows, no way to anticipate where the next would land and try to protect himself, he could only curl up and try to ride it out. 

 

Until he gave out.

 

Which he did. 

 

When his body finally couldn’t take the physical suffering being inflicted. 

 

When his mind could no longer find a place to retreat. 

 

Vin could only assume that while he was unconscious, Dante had taken advantage and worked his trade with the ropes. There was no doubt the man was extremely proficient at his profession. 

 

When he came back to consciousness, his body greeted him with all the aches and pains resulting from the original beating. Those soon gave way to the numbing pain of the position he was being held.  Now, hours later, Vin was losing any hope that he would survive his captivity. His concern  of being used as a pawn in the trade for the confiscated weapons was waning, in fact, Vin was beginning to think he might be dead before that event came to pass. 

 

He knew the signs, breathing was becoming more difficult, the cold, exposure and lack of water - or maybe in this case, the fluid that he’d gotten courtesy of his earlier waterboarding - was taking its toll. Added to that, he couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten or even had any natural sleep, not counting unconsciousness. And if the small spatter of blood on the floor from where he’d cleared his throat after a coughing jag earlier was any indication, then the almost continuous beatings he’d suffered since being taken had most likely done some damage internally. 

 

Vin closed his eyes and struggled to pull the next breath into a ravaged chest.

 

_ Don’t you give up, Tanner… _

 

The voice sounding in his head was no longer his own. Instead, it held a richer timbre that Vin recognized as Chris. He knew it wasn’t real, couldn’t be since he was all alone and his team, his brothers were thankfully safe away from DeLeon and his henchmen. But the voice was nevertheless just as clear as if the blond was seated beside him. 

 

_ Don’t give up… scream… yell… cuss…beg even... do whatever they want… _

 

And Vin had or most nearly. He hadn’t sunk so far as to beg, but the idea was nibbling at his brain. He’d never begged anyone before, not for anything. Not when he was living on the streets, cold and hungry, he’d never begged for a scrap of food. Not even when he’d been in the military, he’d never uttered the first complaint during boot or afterward. He took what they meted out, his silence only making him seem that much more intimidating or lethal in many of the regiment’s eyes. He didn’t care, they didn’t have to know his reasons. 

 

SERE training took his already tenacious self-reliance and reinforced it further. They couldn’t break him, wouldn’t make him understand that the point of the training wasn’t to see if they could but rather to prepare him if he should ever fall into enemy hands, to captors who whose methods and reasons would be far more ruthless. Where he would be alone, friendless, with potentially little hope for rescue or survival. It was meant to prepare him for times like now.

 

_ Don’t give up…  _

 

Larabee’s voice was strong in Vin’s weakened and slowly succumbing mind. It provided a mental anchor of hope. Something SERE and all of his Ranger experience could never prepare or replace. It filled a spot that had been woefully empty for much of Vin’s life. Family…

 

_ Don’t give up... _

 

Rationally, he knew the voice was only some tiny part of his subconsciousness trying to keep him alive, to give him some semblance of faith that his team would come. And they would, he never doubted that. But Vin also knew that he’d never see any of his brother’s again. Not in this lifetime.

 

_ Don’t give up… we’re coming! _

 

And truth be told, he didn’t really want them to risk sacrificing their lives for him. Not now, not the way things were playing out with DeLeon and his half-crazed ideas of being some chief in the cartel. There was only one way all of this was going to end and that was bloody; and with him in a body bag.

 

“Awww C-C’ris…” Vin moaned, his voice rough from abuse and the cold. “‘Jus… d-don’ t-think...I k’n… m-make… it.”

 

From his awkward position, Vin struggled to draw in a breath. The short burst of speech having drained what little air he could manage from his lungs. He began panting, short little gasps squeaking from between blue-tinged lips. He knew first-hand what it was like to hyperventilate, his fear of tight, confining spaces had schooled him well in that particular lesson. He knew the lightheadedness associated with the lack of oxygen, the buildup of carbon dioxide; it was like suffocating, but not. The end result was the same. 

 

But that wasn’t what was happening now. He truly was suffocating or basically so. His restricted position having made it impossible after so many hours to fully expand his chest. 

 

“J-jus… c-c-c’an…” he gasped. 

 

His vision blurred out, the gray-walled room becoming darker, even the cold seeming to fade from his notice as consciousness waned. 

 

_ Breathe! …. Dammit Vin… get your head up and breathe…  _

 

“C-c...an’t… C’ris…” Vin’s eyes closed as he succumbed to the inevitable darkness. 

 

_ “Bullshit Tanner! Don’t you dare give up on me… I’m not losing anymore family… I’m not losing you...”  _

 

The demanding voice shouted in his head and despite his inability to grasp a firm hold on consciousness, Vin could hear his best friend as clearly as if the man were right in front of him. Struggling to reopen his eyes, he so desperately wanted to be able to see the blond leader seated there when he did. The drive to obey Chris’ order was mechanical and born from years of training. The need to rally and respond to his best friend’s plea was instinctual. 

 

“C’ris!” Vin cried out, his vocal cords strained but responding to the young man’s frantic need to call for his best friend.

 

He sensed movement around him, the air shifting, the rustle of clothing. 

 

_ Chris was here! Chris had come. _

 

“C’ris… ’elp...m-me…” Vin pleaded, straining to lift his head even as his eyes opened mere slits of dull blue irises against reddened scleras.

 

Searching for the customary black, his unfocused vision saw only flashes of brown and denim. Vin’s heart pounded in his chest as more bodies seemed to pass in front of him and he could feel the rough tug of hands as they cut away at the bonds holding his body in the stress position. 

 

The guys were here with Chris… they had come… they had found him. 

 

He called out again, determined to make contact with one of his team, his brothers. Even as the rope tethering his neck to his chest was removed and his body dropped listlessly to the cold concrete, Vin weakly turned his face until he spotted the black form in front of him. 

 

“C-c’ris…” his voice was little more than a whimper as he tried and failed to lift an arm towards his best friend. 

 

The black suited shape squatted down until he was nearly face to face with the barely conscious agent. He cast a quick glance down and back across the naked body taking in the damage before fixing his gaze on the sharpshooter’s face. 

 

“C-c’ris…” Vin called out once more, weakly trying to reach for his friend and leader.

 

A gruff laugh met his ears as his arm was pushed aside, the force of the blow enough to roll his body onto his back. 

 

“Pathetic, Agent Tanner,” DeLeon gloated as he knelt beside the beaten man. “I’m very sorry to disappoint you, but unfortunately for you, I’m NOT, Agent Christopher Larabee.” 

 

Vin closed his eyes once more, wishing fervently that he could shut out the Latino’s voice as easily. His hope dashed, his team not present, his rescue not happening, he let himself submit to the inevitable even as DeLeon droned on. 

 

“But as I’ve repeatedly informed you, your team is going to be trading back all the weapons they took from me in an effort to retrieve you. And… as we cannot have you looking such a fright, I suppose it’s time to make you a bit more presentable before we get down to business.”

 

Hands tugged and pulled at his body, Vin could feel himself being lifted from the floor and held upright, his legs unable to support him. Someone grabbed a handful of hair and yanked his head upright from where it hung chin to chest. 

 

“I should think you’d be nearly ecstatic with the news. After all, our time together is almost over,” the gunrunner taunted. 

 

Tanner peered at him, his vision still blurred, his strength all but gone. Sharply dressed in a high-end black suit that would have made Ezra envious, DeLeon was white teeth and a mocking smile. 

 

When Vin made no effort to respond, in fact, had no energy to, DeLeon merely laughed, shaking his head. 

 

“Really, Agent Tanner, I expected at the least some snide retort. No,  _ ‘Fuck Y’all, _ ” he taunted, effecting a mock drawl. 

 

He motioned to the men holding the beaten man and they began to move him towards the open door.

 

_ Chris is coming... _

 

“Lar’bee…’s com’n…” Vin managed softly as he was dragged forward, his feet scraping across the hard concrete. 

 

His faint comment did not go unnoticed by the gang leader and he paused the movement, drawing near so that his mouth was right beside Vin’s ear. 

 

“Oh I’m well aware that Chris Larabee and his team are coming. In fact, I’m well aware of everything that’s going on within your agency.” DeLeon quietly informed him. 

 

Vin lifted his head and met the other man’s eyes directly. He couldn’t hide the fear that now coursed through him. His life had never been at issue, but the lives of his six brothers, that was an entirely different story. 

 

“Y-ya’ g-got n’ inside m-man?” he stuttered out, already sure he knew the answer. 

 

DeLeon’s smirk was all the answer he needed but the criminal’s next words crushed all Vin’s hope and replaced it with overwhelming despair.

 

“How do you think we knew where to find you? Did you really think that your undercover man was going to help get you out? Did you think your Magnificent 7… err… I guess that’s 6 now… were going to charge in and save the day? The cartel knows everything. They’ve been one step ahead of you from the beginning. They know everything your alphabet soup agencies know. They have networks, intel and can put people wherever they need.”

 

Vin swallowed hard, his throat felt as though it was constricting as tightly as the band around his chest. 

 

Chris and the boys would be walking right into a trap… and he had no way to warn them; couldn't manage an effective resistance at this stage even if he had the means. 

 

“So, you see Agent Tanner, if you and your team would have just minded your own business, we could have avoided all this nasty and extra effort to end up exactly where we would have all along. The difference is, you and your team would still be alive to fight another day.”

 

“Said’... y-ya’s not… g-gonna k-kill me…” Vin shot back. “Guess s-shuda’... s’pected ya… t’ b-be a w-worthless l-liar.”

 

DeLeon straightened up and took a moment to smooth out the front of his suit. Carefully examining the nails on his left hand he seemed almost nonchalant as he next spoke. 

 

“Oh, I’m  **_not_ ** going to kill you Agent Tanner…” he sneered. “Your precious team will.”

  
  
  


 

*** M7 ***

  
  
  


 

Chris Larabee had been in law enforcement most of his adult life. If you counted his military career as law enforcement, but on a much larger scale, then he’d basically known that as a career his entire life. 

 

Yet, today was perhaps the singularly worse day he could ever recall in his rather illustrious, decorated and storied career. Sure, he’d had some bad days. Days where he’d been involved in horrific battles. Days where the bad guys managed to slip away. Days where he’d even lost good men on his team or under his command. 

 

But he couldn’t remember ever feeling as much pressure, hope, fear and desperation all coursing through him at one time as it was now. They’d certainly had high-profile missions before; he was no stranger to secretive, high priority assignments during his time as a SEAL, but somehow today was different. 

 

Chris looked around the small conference room, his men all buzzing with activity as they settled into their respective seats and prepared for this final briefing before they were due to put their plan into action. Each of the five looked worn but ready. Even Ezra, who was usually coiffed as though his very life depended on it, today appeared slightly less groomed, sporting the remnants of a five o'clock shadow and eyes that bespoke a definite lack of sleep. To say that they all had been working themselves to the bone over first locating then retrieving Vin would be an understatement.  Yet here they all were, ready to put it all on the line and praying that their well-conceived plan would work if carried out with their usual precision.

 

_ Plus a whole lot deception… and luck! _ Chris added silently.  

 

Chris was convinced the operation would be successful if they could get the right people in the right place and convince some pretty nasty folks that Roberto DeLeon had betrayed them. No mean feat… but if everything fell into place, it was doable. The groundwork had been laid, but it was shaky at best provided the short amount of time the gunrunner had given them to respond to his demands. Larabee could only hope that the rumors and false flags he and his team had “let slip” would be enough to call attention to the right people within the Sinaloa organization. 

 

It was his only hope to get Vin back. 

 

Glancing once more at men around the table, he realized that in trying to rescue one, he was risking five others. Was it a fair trade?  Admittedly, he do the same for any of them, but somehow if he was being brutally honest, his relationship with Vin was different. Sure, Buck was his oldest and dearest friend, the two of them having a history that went back to their time in the Navy. But Vin’s arrival on Team 7 had somehow transcended friendship. Where Buck had seen him through some of the happiest and no doubt saddest times of his life, Vin had found a way to become a missing piece. More than just a friend, the quiet Texan had become something closer to a long-lost brother. They could argue, butt heads, even be a swing away from trading blows, but oddly, there was an understanding beneath it all both men shared that guaranteed a bond, a trust, that was stronger than spoken word or blood could ever be. 

 

Chris knew he had a special relationship with each of these men, knew it was shared in return. In many ways, they’d created a family of sorts among the seven where each of them had been lacking. But there’d never been any mistaking the special kinship between he and Vin. There was no jealousy within the group and certainly Larabee and by no means had Tanner ever flaunted any special privilege.

 

Still, as the flurry of activity went on around him, Chris couldn’t help but question his motives and determination. Deep down, he assured himself he’d be just as driven, just as consumed with retrieving any of the others, but he had to wonder whether if he’d be willing to assume the risk they were about to undertake?

 

“Chris…. Hey… Chris!  You with us here, Chief?” 

 

Buck’s voice cut into his silent introspection and Larabee suddenly realized that the activity had ceased and five faces were now all staring at him with looks of concern. 

 

He blinked rapidly, stealing one more look around the table and sucking in a deep breath that did little to instill any sense of calm to his nerves or the roiling emptiness in his stomach.

 

“You okay, boss?” J.D. asked quietly, his brown eyes red-rimmed from hours of computer work and lack of sleep. He looked as bad as they all did, the entire team running on caffeine, energy drinks and determination. 

 

Chris offered back a thin smile. There was no humor in it, no semblance of happiness or relief. He was pretty sure most of them knew it, but he also knew if he’d actually answered the young agent truthfully, he’d surely lose whatever chance of hopeful morale they possessed. 

 

He drew in a slow, deep breath, hoping that it would provide some sense of calming. It didn’t. Making eye contact first with Josiah and then with Ezra, Chris knew they were picking up on his hesitation. Standish looked as though he was ready to say something but holding back; odd for the one man who never seemed at a loss for words. Sanchez just seemed to stare, like he was searching for some uplifting quote to inspire his SAC. 

 

Larabee willed both men into remaining silent. He didn't want empty words of encouragement or fluffy sentiments of good triumphing over evil. He knew all too well that  _ evil _ had a pretty damn good track record of kicking  _ good’s _ ass.  

 

“Them wheels in your head are churning loud enough to give me a headache, boss,” Buck teased, a broad, good-natured smile spreading across his mustached face. “Why don’t you share with the rest of the class.”

 

Under other circumstances Chris might have snapped back at the snarky lothario, but he understood that Buck was merely trying to get him to focus on the objective at hand. Steeling himself, Larabee reached for the thick folder on the table in front of him. Opening it, he pulled out several items and spread them out. 

 

“You all are up to speed on what went down during my meeting with DEA Division Chief Ryan Burke day before yesterday,” he began. The team responded with nods and mumbles before Chris continued. 

 

“I know we’ve all been working our asses off trying to locate Vin, trying to work out some way to get him back. This deal with Burke has only complicated matters, especially now that we know the cartel has a man inside somewhere, most likely within the DEA but that’s not a given.”

 

“What about the undercover agent inside DeLeon’s operation?” Nathan queried. “Isn’t anyone talking to him? How come he hasn’t reported back? Where the hell has he been this whole time and why hasn’t he helped us get Vin?”

 

“Not all are skilled with the competencies required for clandestine assignments,” Ezra interjected nonchalantly.

 

“Yeah, sure, Ez… cause’ if you’da’ been working in that snakepit, Vin would be home were he belongs? Ha!” Buck mocked.

 

“Yes, well perhaps if you would have been less predisposed with satisfying your more base needs last Friday evening, our venerable sharpshooter would not be in the clutches of the nefarious Mr. DeLeon…”the con man retorted sharply.

 

“Now just you wait a minute…” Buck shouted back, pushing away from the table.

 

“Ezra… Buck… guys… that’s not fair!’ J.D. intervened, also rising up from his seat. 

 

“Just what are you accusin’ me of, Ezra?”

 

“I merely suggest that you and Mr. Dunne were the last to see and converse with Mr. Tanner and…”

 

“Now wait a minute…” J.D.  interrupted defensively. “How were we supposed to know?”

 

“Guys! Hey… what is this?” Josiah was working into the mix. “This isn’t helping.”

 

Now standing, defensive and edgy, Wilmington lashed out at the latest attacker. “Yeah, like you helped?” He accused the burly profiler. “How come you didn’t say something sooner. You knew he didn’t show up on Sunday like he was supposed to?”

 

Sanchez let out an unearthly growl and lurched from his seat. “How dare you!” he bellowed.

 

Nathan, seated between Josiah and Buck, quickly rose trying to intervene between the two emotion-driven teammates. Ezra, once seated across the table was now standing and in a heated debate face to face with an equally irate J.D. Voices rose while bodies pushed closer threatening physical violence. 

 

“GODDAMMIT! What the fuck is wrong with all of you?”

 

Chris’ shout rose above the din and was punctuated by his fist slamming down on the conference table. Coffee mugs danced precariously across the surface and a folder that had been too near the edge by Buck’s seat slipped to the floor with a noticeable slap. 

 

The small room was suddenly plunged into silence, the five men frozen where they were either seated or standing and all eyes turned toward their blond leader. 

 

Larabee stood at the head of the table, his rigid body hunched over, hands gripping the solid edges. His knuckles were white from the tension in his grasp, the muscles in his forearms bulging. Yet underneath, he was trembling. A temor so slight, but unmistakable. 

 

“What... the... fuck... is... wrong... with... all… of... you?” he repeated, quieter this time but no less intense, each word punctuated with a pause. His voice rose up from underneath his downcast face. “Is this what we’re reduced to? Tearing each other apart?” 

 

Chris paused, his heart was beating so hard he was sure the others could hear it. It felt like it might just explode out of his chest like some horrific remake of Alien. All the emotions, all the fear, guilt, regret, everything he’d been so carefully trying to keep bottled up inside while only showing his tough as nails, cool in control character was suddenly threatening to spill out like waves over a seawall. 

 

“Sorry Chris… ya’ gotta know we didn’...” Buck began.

 

Larabee erupted. Stepping back from the table he flung his empty chair away with enough force to send it crashing into the nearby credenza. 

 

“You all wanna blame someone? Huh?” the blond shouted. “Then blame me for what’s happened to Vin? You all want to rip each other apart, then start with me.” He emphasized the last by pounding his fist against his chest. 

 

Josiah tried to restore calm to the escalating emotions filling the room. While the other men were now struck silent by their leader’s outburst, the situation was no less tense as Larabee stood before them, green eyes wide and flaring. 

 

“No one’s looking to lay blame anywhere, Chris,” the big agent softly offered. “I think we’re all just really concerned and a bit too…”

 

“Really, Josiah?” Chris interrupted, his gaze now fixed on the profiler. “You all are thinking it… just nobody here has the balls to come out and say it.”

 

“And what is it exactly that you believe we lack the fortitude to convey?” Ezra asked defensively. Out of all of them, he was the only one to have returned to his seat and was now smoothing out his shirt as though it were more of a worry than the current discussion. 

 

“Cut the bullshit, Ezra,” Larabee hissed. “You guys all want to point a finger at whose fault it is that Vin was taken… that he’s gone right now… that fucking DeLeon had him for nearly three goddamn days before I even knew he was gone… then you can start right here with me.”

 

“None of us knew, Chris,” Buck added softly, his own eyes now downcast and full of emotion. “It wasn’t your fault… it ain’t nobody’s fault but that bastard that has Vin.”

 

Chris drew in a long breath and his next words were so soft had it not been so quiet in the conference room, the other five men might not have heard his reply. 

 

“I knew…” he answered quietly, his eyes already dark-rimmed from lack of sleep taking on an even more haunted look.  _ I knew on Sunday... that fucking dream… but I didn’t trust my instincts…  _ Chris silently chastised himself. 

 

There were murmurs between the others and Buck’s snort of disbelief was unmistakable. 

 

“What are you talking about, Chris? You didn’t know this was gonna happen. You couldn’t have known that DeLeon was gonna come after one of us to get his weapons back. Him takin’ Vin was just… well… it just happened.”

 

It was Larabee’s turn to huff. He followed that with a snigger that held no humor, his head shaking in denial of the dark-haired agent’s words. 

 

“Is that the excuse you all are okay with?” he asked snidely? “Is that going to make us all feel better if Vin comes back in a body bag? It - just -happened?”

 

He looked around the room, seeking each man’s response. Nathan’s head was downcast, no mistaking the guilt that was being absorbed by the team medic. Josiah seemed to be staring out into space, but Chris had no doubt the older agent’s mind was desperately searching for some inspirational and uplifting reply. 

 

Ezra met his brief scrutiny with an emotionless gaze. Chris couldn’t quite read him. It would be easy to assume the ex-Fibbie was callous and uncaring, but Larabee knew better. He knew Ezra, perhaps in his own way, was taking Vin’s abduction even harder than any of the others. But like him, he simply refused to outwardly show it. 

 

J.D. also managed to return the SAC’s quick perusal. Unsurprisingly though, the youngest of them couldn’t hide his emotions. Chris watched as J. D. swiped the back of his hand across his eyes, a soft sniffle noticeable in the silence of the room. 

 

Coming back around the table his eyes landed on Wilmington. Buck who had been there before, who’d seen him through nearly every good and bad time in his life; before Vin. Buck who now sat there staring back at Chris, mustache drooping downward atop lips that were also set into a frown. He was shaking his head slowly, but his blue eyes never left Larabee’s. 

 

“I told you before,” Buck’s voice was soft but intense. “That boy ain’t coming home in no body bag. And I’m sorry… sorry as hell for everything I said here today. It ain’t nobody’s fault what happened. Nobody but DeLeon’s… and that includes you too, Chris. So we can sit around here for the rest of the day, feeling shitty and wringing our hands and planning Vin’s eulogy… but if that’s what you all are gonna do… well then… count me out.”

 

Buck finished and no one spoke. His gaze with Chris did not falter, barely blinking until Larabee was forced to break contact or risk losing any semblance of control and authority.

 

How had it gotten to this? Had the lack of sleep and decent meals driven him - all of them - to lose their focus until they were at each other's throats and behaving worse than a rookie on his first bust? They all knew better. Hell, Chris had hand-picked them because they were all the best at what they did. Sure, they were all passionate and driven, but they generally saved the screaming and shouting for those outside of their tight-knit group. 

 

It struck him then that the missing ingredient was Vin. Vin was their glue; their heart and soul. Sure, each of them had their roles. J.D. was the de facto baby brother; likely always would be no matter how old he was. Nathan was their caregiver and surrogate mother; soothing hurts, watching over them. Josiah then was their father figure, or the one most of them never had. He was big and loud and stern outwardly, but underneath was gentle and kind that managed to dispense wisdom and advice in a genuine and non-judgemental way. 

 

Buck and Ezra were the spirit of their odd little family. Those goofy cousins or older twin brothers, so alike, so different and often at each other's throats, yet immediately at each other’s side to defend the family or whoever they deemed defenseless. Yin and Yang, cultured and uncouth, oil and vinegar… but without them, Chris couldn’t begin to imagine just how dull and uneventful their group would be. 

 

For himself, he designated as order. If Buck embodied love, Chris was the antithesis. He kept everything precise, cold and analytical. Focus was his priority, keeping all the balls in the air. Maybe that was why he understood Ezra better than the con man gave him credit. For all of Standish’s pomp and airs, he paled when it came to the obsessive detachment that Chris tried to perfect. 

 

But Vin… Vin was their heart. Too soft-spoken to take on Buck or Ezra’s role, too deprived of education and shy to be another Josiah, and far too experienced to be J.D. (if he had ever been as naive as J.D.), Tanner in his easy-going way simply kept them all together. 

 

_ Vin is the glue… _ Chris suddenly realized.  _  And without him, we fall apart. _

 

It probably wasn’t that dramatic, but the end results would eventually be the same. He ruefully admitted that left to themselves, J.D. and Buck would find another team or another job working in law enforcement. Josiah and Nathan, although parting ways, would remain in touch because of their stronger social skills. Ezra would drift, seeping into the undercover world that he so favored for its anonymity. And Chris… 

 

_ Who would I be without these six men? _ He wondered. 

 

He’d become so dependant on their camaraderie that losing any one piece of it seemed unfathomable. Would he just drift back to drinking and spending day upon day alone at the ranch? Aimless, friendless, obsessed with work as his only reason to get out of bed each day? 

 

The thought made him shiver and brought him quickly back to reality and the men seated before him. 

 

There was no team without Vin. There was no replacing someone who held such an important role in their lives… his life. 

 

“I’m sorry too…” Chris offered, sincerity evident with each word and by the uncharacteristic softness held in his eyes. “I don’t know… well, okay, yeah I know where this all came from, but it wasn’t what I’d intended. Buck’s right. We’re gonna get Vin back. That’s the point of what we’re doing here today. Nothing else has a priority over that.”

 

“I believe we all share that sentiment, Mr. Larabee, of that, you should have no misgiving.” Ezra’s lack of polysyllabic words proved his own desire and dedication to their goal. 

 

J.D. voice betrayed his still emotional state, but he spoke steadfast and sure as he added in his own words of assent. 

 

“You tell us the plan, Chris… we’ll make it happen… for Vin.”

 

The others murmured their agreement, punctuated by a “Hell yeah” from Buck that drew a grin from the weary ATF leader. Chris nodded, taking some lessor satisfaction that it seemed this minor crisis was over. His hand strayed to rub at the back of his neck, letting some of the tension release from his body; there was ample remaining and he’d be lying if he tried to convince himself or the five men seated and waiting on his leadership, otherwise. He needed to step back up after that uncharacteristic show of drama and return to the hard-nosed, take no prisoners, in-charge personna that they expected. 

 

He knew he wasn’t fooling a single one of them. They could see right through him and his bullshit. But he equally knew that they each were putting up their own bullshit fronts, that had just been made abundantly evident. They needed him to be the baddass leader of Team 7, as much as he needed each of them to fulfill their particular roles. 

 

It was what made them the best. 

 

There’d be time when it was all over for them to sit back and destroy their livers while they pretended that this past week had been a nightmare, but one that they’d each never held a second thought about the outcome. He could almost picture the setting; raucous laughter, good-natured joking that barely masked fear , and a massive bar tab at the Saloon. 

 

Chris just prayed his vision came true. 

 

Clearing his throat against the sudden lump that was threatening to form, he forced his focus back to the original stack of papers in the folders on the table before him. 

 

“Alright, we have one shot at this,” he began. “DeLeon is expecting that we’re gonna give in and deliver his weapons back without much of a fight.  He knows we want Vin, likely expects that we’ll do anything to get him back. But I doubt he’s stupid enough to expect that we’re gonna just let him walk.”

 

“What is our advantage with the agent that infiltrated his operation? Can we expect any assistance there?” Josiah posed. 

 

“Doubtful. We didn’t even know about him until Burke and it sketchy as to who he’s even been reporting to? Maybe it was Burke, maybe not. But whoever it was or is, certainly hasn’t been sharing with the rest of the class. Either there’s another agenda at play here or this guy has gone rogue and isn’t playing for our team anymore.”

 

“Are we bringing him out too then?” J.D. asked worriedly. “I mean, getting Vin is going to be hard enough, how do we even know that this guy won’t start shooting at us? Hell, it's not like he’s done anything to help get Vin back to us so far.”

 

Chris shrugged. “I don’t know,” he began, shuffling through papers until he came to the picture of the undercover operative. Holding it up, he turned and pinned it to the white board behind him for the others to see. 

 

“This is Agent Edward Johnstone, formerly out of the Miami office. As you can see, Agent Johnstone, despite his rather generic name, has a hispanic heritage. His PF says he’s fluent in spanish, likely why he was picked for the original assignment. There’s not much detail on what that assignment was or who ordered the op, but I’m guessing that it’s related to the cartel.” 

 

“Does he have family?” Nathan asked solemnly. “I mean, if he’s been under this long, hasn’t anyone missed him? Hell, for that matter, do we even know if he’s still alive? Maybe that’s why he never reported in or why he didn’t help Vin when DeLeon took him.”

 

Larabee drew in a slow, deep breath. Now came the hard part. 

 

“Well, it’s possible, Nate. Truth is, Burke also told me that in addition to the DEA having a man inside DeLeon’s operations, the cartel also had a mole in one of the agencies here.”

 

The explosion of disbelief was nearly as bad as the prior outcry had been from the team. All but Buck, who he’d already briefed, were now coming to grips with just how dire the situation had developed into. 

 

“What… how…”J.D. stammered.

 

“How is this just coming out?” Josiah asked angrily. 

 

Chris waved them quiet. “It seems that Burke helped get the spy inside. Problem is, we can’t be sure who it is, which agency he has access to, or… how long he’s been inside.”

 

“So, what you’re inferring is that we may not only be dealing with foreign emissary from reporting back clandestinely to the Sinaloa cartel, but we have no real intelligence as to what information this agent may possess or have passed on or how that might influence the outcome of our efforts to recover Mr. Tanner?” 

 

Chris’ eyes narrowed at Ezra’s word choice; his head was already spinning without the Southerner choosing to be verbose. He thought about calling the prudish man out, but before the words could reach his lips Buck’s deep voice interjected. 

 

“Yeah, Ez. In plain English, we’re pretty fucked.”

 

Standish sneered at the bigger agent. “There was no need for crassness. I was merely confirming our current situation.”

 

“Okay… okay… let’s not have a replay of before,” Chris intervened. “Ezra, you’re assessment is pretty much dead on, and Buck, you’re not too far off either.  _ But… _ here’s where we have the advantage.”

 

“We have an advantage in this?”J.D. asked, his voice filled with disbelief. “The only advantage I can see is to hit DeLeon with a battalion of pissed-off Marines… let ‘em shoot everybody that ain’t Vin. Bag and tag ‘em all at the end. Save everybody a lot of headaches down the road.”

 

“And while all the bullets are flying, how do we protect Vin? You suddenly turn into Jane Grey or Professor X and gonna put a force field up around him?” Buck shot back.

 

“Alright so we’ve exhausted that option,” Chris snidely threw in. “The point I was getting to is that we have to expect that DeLeon likely knows about everything, that he’s going to be expecting our usual tactics. He most certainly has access to details about personnel so we need to be extra diligent about our own security. No sense in giving him any extra leverage.”

 

“But you’ve got a plan, right?”

 

Larabee smiled. “We give DeLeon everything he wants and then some. We make him look good… too good in fact. So good that he looks suspicious to the cartel. In fact, we’re going to over-deliver so he has a hard time explaining why he’s been holding out on Sinaloa.”

 

“You’re going to set him up with the cartel?” Nathan exclaimed.

 

“We’re just gonna help him make his bones or if everything goes right, we’re gonna let the cartel help us bury them.”

 

Standish grinned broadly. “You are not only setting the wolves to each other’s throats, you’re providing the blood.”

 

“Just playing to their nature,” Chris offered. 

 

For the first time in the past week there was a spark of hope among the five men. While Larabee still had his reservations about pulling off his highly risky plan, it was good to see that his team had something to latch on to and run with. He knew they’d throw everything they had into executing what he was about to lay out in front of them. He’d lead, they’d follow. Vin would come home. 

 

“Alright, so here’s what we have to do. First, everything related to the op stays right in this room, between us. Nothing, and I repeat, not a word goes outside. Not to  _ anyone _ , in  _ any  _ agency. If you need any intelligence, we find our own sources. Don’t leave a single trail until after we make the meet with DeLeon tomorrow.”

 

“I can set us up with outside net resources,” J.D. stated confidently. “Untraceable… piece of cake. Just let me know what databases you need me to hack into.”

 

“Let’s keep it reasonably legal, J.D.. I’d like for us to still have jobs when this is all over. Okay, Buck, you need to use that golden tongue of yours to get us as close to what the original manifest was for weapons from the DeLeon bust - back in our possession - ASAP.”

 

“Consider it done, boss. Shouldn’t be too hard since I’ve got a bit of an _ IN  _ with a certain clerk  down in evidence. Only problem, Chris, is the Army has already taken their ordinance back. How we gonna replace that?”

 

“Leave that to me. Ezra, that’s where you come in. How fast can you arrange a buy from your sources at the Colorado Freemen?” Larabee posed. 

 

“You would like me to seek out the assistance of our nearby contentious militia in order to procure miscellaneous weapons with which to offer back to the nefarious Mr. DeLeon?” Standish asked, his eyebrows raised with a look that bespoke his disbelief at the suggestion.  

 

“Are you saying that you can’t do it?”

 

Ezra shook his head defensively. “No… no! It is well within my scope of accomplishments, although I may require Mr. Sanchez to provide additional support. But I must admit, Mr. Larabee, I am in a state of admiration of your plan’s complexity.”

 

Chris’ grin was much broader this time. Somehow Ezra’s comment emboldened him. Crazy was just what they needed. 

 

“Alright gentlemen, let’s get to this. We’ve got till noon tomorrow. That’s the deadline DeLeon set for the meet.”

 

Chairs rolled back in his chair as his men started about their assigned tasks, individual conversations beginning between them. 

 

“How about me, Chris?” Nathan spoke now, causing the others to pause. “What do you need from me?”

 

Larabee’s smiled faded. “Nate, you need to prepare for what you do best… and let’s all pray we don’t need you.”

 

 

TBC...


	8. Day 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a long one... so much to wrap this up. Hope you like it.

  


  


_ *** Day 7 *** _

  
  


Chris couldn’t recall any other time that the prep cage was so quiet. Usually the large room filled with storage lockers and surrounded by high-tensile bars for security was filled with the almost constant chatter of his team as they readied themselves for upcoming action. Here they dressed, donned their body armour, checked and double-checked their weapons as well as any other equipment and gear. 

  


Normally, this time was filled with good-natured camaraderie. The ribald jokes and teasing was a common occurrence and more than once, Larabee had felt the need to redirect his teams’ energy and focus to the task at hand. To the outsider, the group often looked unprepared and worse, incompetent. But Chris knew better. 

  


This group of men were all professionals of the highest quality. They worked hard, often played harder, and if they seemed unorthodox, it was only because they recognized how much was usually riding on whatever mission they were about to undertake. The jokes and language were merely a way to create a little levity in an otherwise intenselessly stressful situation. 

  


Which made today all the more odd; disconcerting even. The silence was almost overwhelming in its negativity and it reminded Chris of those times when the team was gathered at one of the local trauma centers awaiting word on one of their brothers who had been injured in the line of duty. 

  


He didn’t like it; not then or now. It was foreboding and did not sit well with the two breakfast burritos and the stale coffee Buck had brought him from McDonalds earlier this morning. He had eaten them numbly, forcing the food down only because he knew the others were watching. Like most of them, Chris’ quality and quantity of food and sleep was well on the negative side this week. 

  


Larabee finished adjusting the velcro straps on his Kevlar vest giving it a firm tug to make sure it was loose enough for him to move but not so lose to risk any unnecessary exposure if the bullets started flying. 

  


**_When_ ** _ the bullets start flying…  _ he mentally edited. 

  


As he worked to check the extra magazines stowed away in the front pouches of his vest, a soft litany of words rose up to meet Chris’ ears. Had the room not been so uncharacteristically silent, he doubted he would have even noticed. But as it was, the quiet made even the most subdued voice sound like a shout. 

  


Chris let his ears guide his eyes, noting as he glanced around the room at each of his team members that none of the others seemed to have noticed the hushed chant. Buck was double-checking J.D.’s vest as the younger agent fiddled with the larger man’s communication headset. Nathan was sorting through what looked to be IV set-ups while Ezra seemed to be securing a pair of M&P M2’s into a dual shoulder holster. 

  


As for Josiah, the burly profiler sat on the bench, his back to the rest of the group, unmoving. Chris tracked the sounds to his biggest, most “mature” agent. Moving slightly closer, he focused his attention on the muffled words. 

  


It took a couple of seconds  and he really wasn’t shocked when he realized that Josiah was praying. Chris listened for a moment or two more, emotions building and conflicting as he listened to the man implore God. He’d always known Josiah was the spiritual leader of the group, even when some of them drifted as far away from any regular relationship with religion as a person could get. Chris never said much, didn’t complain or ridicule the man for his faith and certainly not for all the community outreach he completed during his spare time. 

  


But now, preparing to head out to meet DeLeon and who knew what sort of opposition, Chris wasn’t sure if prayer was a good thing or not. In fact, as he continued to listen, he felt himself becoming angry. Conflicted, he wasn’t sure if he was willing to offer up his own supplication to an invisible entity that he’d long ago written off as non-caring and ineffective.

  


Still, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he wasn’t desperate. Chris knew all too well that the odds were stacked against them; against Vin. Even though he’d never really been one who paid much heed to the odds he also wasn’t one to ignore a little extra “help” no matter where it came from. 

  
  


_ Please…  _ he voiced silently, momentarily closing his eyes.  _ I’m not asking for me… but Tanner, he deserves… well, can’t YOU just do SOMETHING?  What the hell is the use of praying to YOU if YOU never bother to answer back? _

  


“Chris? Hey Chris?” Buck called out to the distracted leader, his voice not breaking through the blond’s quiet introspection. 

  


“Hey Boss, you all with us?” the dark-haired agent attempted once more, adding a gentle but solid slap to Larabee’s shoulder. 

  


Chris startled, blinking quickly and focusing on the smiling but concerned face of his oldest friend. He returned a grim smile and nodded. 

  


“Yeah, sorry just drifted for a sec. We all set to go?” 

  


“Locked and loaded” Buck replied. “Even made sure the youngin’ had on clean underwear.” he added, giving J.D’s hair a playful ruffle.

  


That earned a brief round of laughter from the other three agents and even Chris gave a quick snort as the youngest member of their team retaliated with a well-placed jab to his best-friend’s gut. 

  


It was all-so familiar and yet remarkably off; Vin missing presence a distinct void as quiet settled over the group once again. 

  


Chris cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. 

  


“Alright. We’ve got one shot at this. Ezra will lead us in with me as his immediate backup. DeLeon isn’t expecting the whole team, but he’d be stupid to think the rest of you weren’t somewhere close by so we’re going to give him what he least expects. But bear in mind, we have one goal and one goal only; getting Vin back. Everything else is bonus as far as I’m concerned.” 

  


“And what about Mr. DeLeon? If the opportunity arises, do we take him down?” Ezra posed. 

  


Larabee’s eyes went cold and dark. “After we secure Vin,  _ ONLY  _ after we have him safe, then that bastard is mine!” he snarled. “With any luck, his focus will be on the weapons, not Vin.”

  


“Chris, are you sure about this? I mean, us running this op solo and all… it sure would be nice to have a bit more firepower backing us up if things go south,” Josiah added  

  


The SAC drew in a slow breath, feeling the questioning gaze of each of his men set directly on him. He knew Sanchez’s question wasn’t born of insubordination or even doubt in the team’s abilities. These men were the best at what they did and Chris never questioned their dedication or their bravery. 

  


But right now he knew they were all looking to him - maybe more than they ever had on any other operation - to provide assurance that this bust, like countless other before, would turn out positive. They wanted his stalwart guidance and leadership, unwavering and confident, to make them all feel a stronger sense of assurance. Chris was always that centralized figure; calm, cool and so damn confident it was as if his will alone made things happen. 

  


It was those qualities that had made him an outstanding team leader in the SEALS and were primarily why AD Travis had specifically chosen him to create his own team here in Denver. He’d always been a leader; whether on the high school football field or in the service, it seemed that others followed him and he never shirked the opportunity to take charge. 

  


Larabee learned quickly that leadership came with a heavy burden. Having to make decisions with critical outcomes was not for the weak or faint of heart. Worse, making decisions that often had life or death repercussions was something that he’d been faced with all-too-often in his lengthy career. 

  


And here he was again. Faced with executing a plan that not only risked the lives of five of his nearest and dearest friends, but also held in the balance the life of the man that was as close to him as any blood relative could ever be. 

  


“Okay, you all know what the plan is and I know it would feel a whole lot better if we could call in support, but that just isn’t an option. With any luck - hell, with a fuck load of a luck, we’ll put DeLeon in a position where he’ll be too busy defending himself to worry about us or Vin. And just maybe, we can pull out Agent Johnstone at the same time. But I don’t need to remind any of you. We’re still going in there with  _ one _ primary goal…”

  


“Get Vin” Five voices rose in unison. 

  


Chris answered his team with a confident nod, slapped a full magazine into his standard issues Colt M4 Carbine and slung the weapon onto his shoulder. He’d already loaded his vest pockets with extra magazines for the assault weapon and along with his Glock 27, he was about as armed as he ever was going into an op. 

  


A quick look around the cage assured him that the other five were equally as equipped. They looked ready for battle and Chris supposed that’s what they were headed for. 

  


“Alright then,” he spoke, voice commanding authority but tinged with apprehension. “Let’s do this.”

  
  
  
  
  


*** M7 ***

  


  
  


The sun shone brilliantly, rays beating down during the late morning hour and warming the earth to an above-average temperature for a mid-spring day. Of course, being at such a high elevation certainly helped and the nearly cloudless sky only added to the extra warmth. It had been one of the things Vin had loved about the Mile High city, even during the breath-stealing frigid winters, he relished the fact that he could often enjoy the beauty of the nearby mountain vistas or the cloudless star-filled night skies that seemed as though he could just reach out and pluck a brilliant orb right above his head. 

  


He loved his outdoors, every blade of grass, every chilled mountain stream, every breeze that pulled through his non-regulation length hair. Nature called him, calmed him, soothed his soul when the job overwhelmed him. It cradled him to her body and didn’t pass judgement, just let him sit quietly and be at peace.

  


Vin wasn’t sure if he’d ever get back to his beloved wilderness again. And even if he did, he didn’t know if he’d be able to find that peace and healing he’d so desperately been craving throughout this nightmare.  

  


The vehicle he’d been riding in came to a lurching stop and Vin felt strong, rough hands grab at his arm, pulling him out. But even as DeLeon’s henchmen tugged him forward, the lean sharpshooter managed to lift his head and turn his face toward the heat of the sun, soaking in the warmth denied him the past few days. 

  


He kept his eyes tightly crimped closed, not that he could have opened the right one even had he wanted to; his face too swollen from the repeated beatings. He didn't need to see, he knew what was waiting for him; DeLeon had made that abundantly clear when they left the warehouse. Still, the prospect of seeing the boys again, even one last time, filled Vin with the thinnest sense of hope. 

  


They drug him along, his feet scuffing the pavement as though he were little more than a recalcitrant child or worse, so much baggage. They weren’t particularly gentle, and that thought caused Vin to snicker slightly, as if he would’ve expected them to have suddenly cared about his welfare and condition. 

  


But DeLeon _had_ _instructed_ his goons to earlier provide some water and towels prior to the group leaving for the meet.The gunrunner apparently wanted to be sure that his “guest” was thoroughly prepared for the meeting.

  


_ Guess’n he did’n wan’ me show’n up lookin’ like I’s spen’ a cupla’ weeks goin’ one on one wi’ Conner M’ Gregor... _

  


Vin vaguely recalled someone coming to clean him up. It might have been Dante or the big man he’d come to refer to as Tacos because the brute always smelled of chili seasoning and hot peppers. In reality, whoever it had been certainly hadn’t spared him any considerations, washing him down as though he were little more than some mangy cur that they despised touching. 

  


The water they used was icy and reeked of cheap disinfectant. It burned terribly as it came in contact with his skin and Vin doubted it was little more than industrial cleaner. Worse, the towels they’d used to clean up his blood-covered and soiled flesh felt as though they’d were old rags used in an auto shop. The rough material tore away at scabbed flesh and reopened the smaller wounds that had been inflicted over the course of days. They provided him the barest sip of fresh water, not enough to slack his incredible thirst or to make up for the deficit; his abuse far from over even if DeLeon was willing for appearances to clean him up. 

  


They redressed him in his original jeans, although those were more the worse for wear; heavily soiled with all manner of body fluids. At least it was all his, although Vin could barely stand the odor and took some satisfaction that none of DeLeon’s men seemed to want to stand near him.  Someone must have found or donated a t-shirt, Vin’s original shirts having been torn from him early in his captivity and far from being salvageable for wearing. 

  


He supposed he should be somewhat grateful for that small concession. Despite the bright sunshine, the midday warmth still held a late spring chill that managed to raise gooseflesh across his exposed skin. It was the least of Vin’s concerns, the threat of dying from exposure by far the least likely cause of his demise within the next few hours. 

  


Someone pushed him forward from behind, his bare feet assaulted by the rough asphalt surface of the large parking area where they had come to park. Stealing a look at the immediate area, Vin quickly noted that they were surrounded by large warehouses, generally older and in disrepair. They reminded him of the old buildings in LoDo, before the massive renovation; but no way would have DeLeon arranged to make the exchange there. 

  


The high pitch screech of a fighter jet caught his attention and Vin tilted his head skyward, tracking the noise and spotting a web of contrails in the crystal blue sky. If they were anywhere near Buckley, then these could be one of hundreds of warehouse complexes built along Interstate 70. With all the growth and sprawl in the Denver metro area, much of the distribution had moved out past Aurora and along one of the various highways. 

  


His eyes searched for the mountains to the west, straining to see Grays Peak or even Mt. Evans. But the buildings surrounding him were too tall to peer over and his position too low to the horizon. 

  


_ Jus’ one more time woulda’ b’n nice… _ Vin thought ruefully, his head dropping back down as he trudged ahead, his tender feet leaving behind bloody footprints among the coarse gravel and pavement.

  


He was roughly grabbed by the back of the neck and brought to a stop near a tall stack of metal crates. His senses, even dulled by lack of sleep and poor nutrition could still detect the presence of several bodies positioned close by. Even DeLeon wasn’t stupid or careless enough to come without enough back-up or firepower. 

  


Vin cast a quick glance towards the nearby buildings, trying to spot whether the gunrunner had taken the precaution of placing any snipers on the high ground. He surely hoped not, especially since his team was now down their own sharpshooter and already walking into the meet at a disadvantage.

  


“I’m sure you’re quite anxious for today’s proceedings to be underway, eh’ Agent Tanner?” DeLeon leered as he absently picked at his thumbnail, seemingly unconcerned that within minutes he would be facing several federal agents. 

  


“Ya’ really think Larabee’s really gonna trade for me, then you’se stupider than ya look,” Vin hissed back in reply. 

  


Tanner looked skyward before locking eyes with the hispanic mobster. 

  


“Chris is gonna bring hell down on this whole place… there won’t be anythin’ left breathin’. Not even a cockroach, s’pecially you.”

  


There was a brief silence as though DeLeon might have momentarily believed the sniper’s taunt before his bravado returned and he let loose a raucous howl of laughter. 

  


“You really don’t know when you’ve lost, do you Agent Tanner? You’re like some little dog, just yapping away over a bone when its quite obvious that the larger lion has made the kill and is going to take it. But no matter, yap away… if it makes you feel better… for now. Do you really think I would chance a broad daylight meet with the most notorious team in the ATF if I hadn’t accounted for all contingencies?”

  


Vin snorted. “Like I said… you’re pretty fuckin’ stupid… so…” 

  


DeLeon shrugged. “Yes, well, I’m not the one who has been thoroughly beaten and abused for the past week now am I? Tell me, Agent Tanner, that wonderful video I have of you begging as my men threatened to sodomize you, and you, tied up as you were, in such a lovely submissive position. I wonder how that video would be received back at your agency and among your team?” 

  


Bile rose from Vin’s stomach and he felt certain if he hadn’t been half-starved he would have surely vomited as the memory rushed back in vivid clarity of three or four men, he couldn’t be sure, came at him, hands grabbing at his body, touching, invading, and he was tied so tightly, bound in a manner that he could barely breathe much less move. 

  


He tried, God how he tried, to simply ignore those hands, the rough touch of fingers on his bare abused skin. He let his mind drift as he’d been taught in SERE, zoning out against the pain, against the violence. He ignored the sneers and taunts and laughter thrown his way in both English and Spanish; he recognized the threats in both languages. 

  


But it was the smallest of sounds that finally unnerved him, that had him thrashing against the rope that had him so firmly bound, straining until he tore flesh open, screaming “NO” and “STOP” until his voice was gone. 

  


He resisted, all of it being nothing more than threat until he heard the tell-tale sound of zippers being pulled and the rough movement of denim. Then it was real, the taunts now beyond threat. His helplessness complete. And if there had been anything that DeLeon had wanted from him; information, access, names, he would have likely given it up at that moment to have prevented his deepest fear from becoming reality. 

  


Now, standing there lost in the memory, Vin shuddered; his body shaking like a nervous colt awaiting the harsh hand of its rider. He vaguely heard DeLeon’s snort of laughter at his reaction. It hardly mattered, any pride or defiance he still retained had been lost last night in the cold concrete room as he withstood the final assault of his week-long captivity. 

  


“What? No witty retort, Agent Tanner? Or perhaps you’ve nothing to say simply because you enjoyed the company of my men last evening? I’m told there’s nothing quite as exhilarating as sex tempered by violence. Is that how you like it perhaps?”

  


Vin glared at the dark-haired man, his smugness and thin-lipped grin were like salt on all of the sharpshooter open wounds. 

  


“Hmm, I think maybe I’ll have to let my Sinaloa brothers know about your penchant for bondage.”

  


“F-fuck you, Robbie…” Vin stammered. “Those boys down at ADX Florence gonna love takin’ it out on your ass.”

  


“You’ll certainly never know, Tanner,” DeLeon shot back without missing a beat. He snapped his fingers at the man standing behind Vin and a thick, black cloth sack was tugged down over the agent’s head. 

  


Before he had the chance to even draw in a breath or fight against the cloying fabric, the bag was tightly cinched around his neck. With his hands tightly bound by thick plastic flex ties and his bare feet subjected to the rough gravel, there was little Vin could do but submit to yet another form of assault. 

  


“Ahhh and perfect timing, our guests are arriving,” DeLeon announced. 

  


The crunch of tires on the gravel verified his statement and Vin could detect the sound of at least two vehicles drawing near. They stopped, but the engines remained idling even as doors opened and then shut. 

  


Vin counted four doors, which meant that either two of the team had remained in the cars or had exited earlier. He hoped it was the latter, praying that Chris had been smart enough to position the team strategically ahead of time. In fact, he hoped that Larabee had brought the whole 10th Special Forces Group from Fort Carson and turned the regiment loose with orders to scorch earth. He was beyond caring about himself, he just wanted his team and everyone else kept safe and more importantly, he wanted Roberto DeLeon and his men ground into tiny dog kibble. 

  


Unfortunately, his heart sank as he recognized the next speaker’s voice.

  
  
  
  
  


***M7***

  
  


  
“It’s noon, we’re here, let’s get this show started.” Chris Larabee’s commanding tone was unmistakable as he opened the dialogue between the two groups. 

  


“Special Agent Larabee, so nice that we now have the opportunity to become better acquainted this time around. Our last meeting was brought to such a hasty closure,” DeLeon replied in return. 

  


“Yeah, that’s because you managed to scurry off like the sewer rat you are while we were rounding up the losers that worked for you and all of the munitions you stole before it hit the streets and ruined more innocent lives,” Larabee threw back. “Really, this is all getting a bit monotonous. Why don’t you save us all the trouble and just surrender now so we don’t have to chase your sorry ass later.”

  


The brash Mexican threw his head back and howled with laughter. 

  


“I really do admire that huge set of balls, Agent Larabee. You aren’t very smart, perhaps you aren’t even a very good tactician, but you certainly aren’t lacking when it comes to sheer nerve. Pity though, much like Agent Tanner, grit and tenacity only take you so far and unfortunately, in this instance, you are woefully outmatched.”

  


It was Chris’s turn to laugh, but much to his character, he provided the gunrunner only the briefest low huff of air. 

  


“You think you’re smarter than me, than my team.You think you’ve lined yourself up to be the next El Chapo here in Denver… you’re gonna be in for a rude awakening. This is our town. And you don’t mean shit here.”

  


DeLeon’s eyes narrowed. The insolence of this man to stand up to him even after he’d taken and held one of his own men captive was nothing short of intolerable. 

  


“You seem to forget, Agent Larabee, the purpose of our meeting today. Apparently, Agent Tanner’s life holds so little value to you? You come here to this exchange, standing there holding weapons at ready, and you have the audacity to sling threats at me?” he stepped forward, his body rigid with anger, eyes flashing and fists clenched at his sides.

  


Chris held steady, his M-4 at ready in his hands and held across his body. To his left, Ezra’s fingers twitched every so slightly against the triggers on his twin Ruger Mini-14s. Behind them both, stood JD, Nathan and Josiah in full tactical gear. They looked intimidating, faces a mask of cold indifference, each holding their field of fire against the dozen or so of DeLeon’s men that were scattered in plain view. 

  


“I don’t make threats,” Larabee interrupted the raging man. 

  


“Neither do I,” DeLeon screamed back, spinning around and waving toward one of his men who was standing back near a stack of large metal shipping containers. 

  


There was a bit of commotion and Chris had to bit his tongue to prevent the gasp that threatened to escape as he watched DeLeon’s man pull forward a partially clothed form from behind the tall stack of containers. The man wore only jeans, torn and stained in dark reds and other non-descript colors that Larabee didn’t want to consider. The thin t-shirt had seen better days and he knew inherently that it wasn’t thick enough to provide the amount of warmth the weather required. 

  


As the body stumbled forward, hampered by the thick, black hood covering the head and extending down and tightly secured around the neck, Chris felt his anger rise. There was no mistaking the form as Vin Tanner, even beaten and abused, the lithe Texan moved with an unmistakable gait that Chris could have identified in a crowd. 

  


Chris cringed as he watched Vin, barefoot, trying desperately to limp his way along as he was pulled forward. His feet left bloody splotches behind and Larabee was certain that the sharp bits of gravel were finding their way into the soft insoles of the sniper’s flesh. 

  


It took everything he had as both commander and best friend not to want to rush to Vin’s side and start picking targets with his carbine until he had his young friend safe and sound and surrounded by the bodies of DeLeon and his men. The temptation to pull the knife from his utility belt and cut away the suffocating hood from around Vin’s head also as powerful, knowing that the claustrophobic agent was likely suffering more from the cloying confinement than any of the other abuses. 

  


But before Chris had the chance to act on any of his impulses the sharp report of a weapon discharging snapped his attention back from thoughts of retaliation to reality. At first he wasn’t sure who had fired their weapon and he scanned the area rapidly, eyes seeking the shooter before all hell broke loose and everyone started firing. 

  


In an instant, Chris saw two things nearly at once. One was the 9mm in DeLeon’s hand, still aimed toward Vin. And the other was Vin, suddenly having come to a halt, his body wavering as a blossom of red began to spread on his left thigh. 

  


“Vin!” Chris shouted, his feet pulling him forward even as the sharpshooter faltered and collapsed to the ground. 

  


“That was to get your attention, Agent Larabee. And to show you that I am not only in control here…” DeLeon began, “but I’m not to be challenged or taken lightly. Do we have an understanding?”

  


“Take a breath, Mr. Larabee…” Ezra admonished softly, drawing closer to Chris’s side. “Let the plan run its course.”

  


Chris gave Standish a barely perceivable nod before drawing in a long breath. Even from a couple dozen yards away he could hear Vin’s shallow, pain-filled gasps as the young agent lie awkwardly sprawled on the ground, his body hunched forward in agony. 

  


Larabee forced himself to look away from his injured friend and back to the now smirking gun dealer. 

  


“Alright… alright…” Chris began, moving his right hand away from the trigger guard on the weapon and extending it to his side palm up. “We got off on the wrong foot. We’re here to get Tanner back, not watch you spill more of his blood.”

  


DeLeon moved cautiously but eventually lowered his weapon. 

  


“Good… good! I detest having to be directly involved in violence, but as you see, I’m certainly not averse to it. Now, since we have an understanding, let’s begin with the details of our arrangement.”

  


“We brought what you listed in the demands,” Larabee stated coldly, his eyes refocused on Vin’s unmoving form.

  


“And yet the only weapons I see are the ones you have the audacity to be pointing at me and my men…” DeLeon sneered, waving his hand at the five agents.

  


Chris stamped down his irritation. The gunrunner’s sarcasm and smugness were wearing thin on his patience. 

  


Another glance at Vin and the injured sniper was being roughly pulled back to his feet by two large men on either side. They held him, although he barely remained upright, between them, each with a hand firmly grasping one of Tanner’s arms while they pressed the muzzles of two Tech-9s into his side. 

  


His heart ached to call out to his best friend, to provide some assurance that this nightmare would soon be over and that Vin would be back with his team. But in the pit of his stomach, those assurances seem weaker than pissing on a raging forest fire. 

  


“Yeah, alright then,” the blond answered, acquiescence to the situation in his tone. “Let’s get this done.”

  


“C-’c’ris… no…” Vin’s weak voice cut into the men’s tense dialogue and Larabee watched as his team reacted to the broken rasp of their injured brother. Only Ezra managed to maintain his steely composure, his eyes only quickly flashing over to his  bedraggled colleague before returning back to keep a watchful gaze on the armed mob surrounding them. 

  


As for Chris, he didn’t bother to hide his reaction. There was no point. DeLeon already had him pegged, knew he’d do anything for the men on his team. Still, he wasn’t going to give the bastard any more ammunition to use against him, or Vin for that matter. 

  


“It’s okay, Vin,” he answered, trying to instill more calm and confidence in his voice than he currently felt. “We’ve got this under control. Don’t you worry none. Just gonna trade back to ol’ Robbie here some old Army surplus and we’ll have you back home in time to catch the Rockies - Rangers series.”

  


Any chance of Vin replying or even acknowledging Chris’ plea to remain reassured was squelched by DeLeon’s interruption. 

  


“Enough!” the rakish wannabe cartel-man shouted. “While this is so very touching, I’m just not a fan of these Lifetime Channel moments. Besides, You should really be careful making promises you might not be able to keep, Agent Larabee.”

  


Chris flashed a trademark glare at DeLeon. If the hispanic criminal wanted to make threats, Larabee was willing to meet him toe to toe. 

  


“We had a deal, DeLeon. You do anything to renege on that now and I swear there won’t be enough left of you to put into a sandwich bag much less a body bag.”

  


“You wouldn’t risk all of your men… your Magnificent 7 team… or Tanner… you wouldn’t!” the dark-haired trafficker refuted. 

  


“We’re ready to die… to bring Vin home, we’d die to get him back. How about you? Are you ready to turn this into the O.K Corral over a few autos and some stolen surface to air munitions?” 

  


DeLeon’s mask of bravado slipped for the barest moment and Chris felt a brief sense of triumph. It was wiped away just as fast as DeLeon sprung to Vin’s side, a long-thin blade dropped into his hand from the interior of his coat sleeve and was pressed against the black material at the junction of Vin’s neck and shoulder. 

  


“Give me my weapons, Larabee… or I’ll slice Tanner into so many pieces he’ll bleed to death while you watch and then YOU can stuff him into a bunch of sandwich bags and share him with the rest of your team at Thanksgiving as a memento.  **Now where is my ordinance?!”**

  


Chris knew the deal was deteriorating. DeLeon was a psychopath, no question about it. The mere fact that the once local businessman was even entertaining dealing with the cartel was evidence of that. He could only hope that the real cartel was too suspicious to actually consider dealing with someone who had no ties to the underworld. DeLeon was too vanilla, too middle-class and educated and hopefully in the end, it would be his lack of connections and Sinaloa’s mistrust that would do him in. 

  


_ The enemy of my enemy…  _  Chris could only pray that old saying held true here today.

  


“Alright!” He shouted back, dropping his hands completely away from the M-4 Carbine and letting it dangle from his shoulder by the sling. Chris held his hands out out in a placating gesture, hoping to get DeLeon to lower the blade from Vin’s neck. “Just calm the fuck down. Everything you wanted is here. I just have to make a call and my men will bring it in.”

  


The knife never wavered and DeLeon did not budge. “Then I suggest you make whatever call you must… and you do it quickly. I’ve no more patience and I’m sure my capo, Seňor Quintero, will be more than eager to take Agent Tanner off my hands.”

  


Larabee nodded his acknowledgement and slowly reached for the cell phone tucked into one of the pockets of his vest. As he did, Ezra drew up closer, never turning his back away from the his field of targets.

  


“Surely we don’t believe he’s going to have Rafael Caro Quintero himself, showing up here to do business… do we?” the slick undercover man asked in disbelief. 

  


Chris shrugged as he unlocked the password protected cellular and hit the speed-dial number for Buck. 

  


“It seems pretty unlikely,” he replied back, his voice little more than a whisper. “But considering our luck? If he does, just start shooting and don’t stop until no one is firing back at ya’.” 

  


Ezra nodded back grimly and retreated back to his earlier position as Chris’ phone connected. 

  


“Buck… yeah… we’re on. Bring it in… and stay alert. Vin’s here, but DeLeon’s still holding him.”

  


Wilmington responded and Chris ended the call, tucking the phone back into the right pocket of his cargo pants. 

  


“Alright, they’re bringing it in,” he called out to DeLeon. “Let’s hope your boys are ready to do their part.”

  
  
  
  


***M7***

  
  
  
  
  


“As Mr. Sanchez is often fond of saying… from your mouth to God’s ears, Mr. Larabee…” Ezra mumbled under his breath, his green-eyes narrowly focused on the failing struggle of his teammate to remain upright within the grasp of the vicious criminals. 

  


He wondered if Vin even knew what was happening, blinded as he was by the darkened sack pulled over his head and surely having succumbed to unfathomable pain not only from the recently inflicted gunshot wound to his leg but also from whatever other tortures DeLeon had meted upon him during the past week. 

  


Ezra cringed inwardly. Vin Tanner was one of the strongest men he knew and over the years of their association, he’d come to quietly respect the sniper’s taciturn personality, especially when it came to his emotions or vulnerability. It was all a ruse. If anything, Vin was deep down an incredibly sensitive person. His respect came from the fact that like himself, Vin simply mastered the tactic of keeping his feelings subdued. 

  


Oh, it wasn’t that the young sharpshooter was a stone, cold workaholic. No, that label was reserved for their blond leader. It was more the fact that Tanner was better at brushing off slights or making it seem as though all the little things were of no consequence when Ezra knew better. Vin may have grown up knowing abuse and deprivation, he may have even feigned that it was an accepted way of life, but deep down, Ezra was certain Vin craved all the things he’d been denied for most of his younger existence. 

  


Like himself, Vin yearned for praise, kind words, gentle touches, the surprise of an unexpected gift, the quiet camaraderie of friends around a fire, the childlike magic of the holidays. He didn’t deserve the horrific torment he’d suffered at the hands of DeLeon and Ezra couldn’t begin to fathom how the young agent was going to fully recover, recalling his own mistreatment while undercover with Nikoli Simic and his crew. 

  


While it had been almost two years since his cover had been blown and the Serbian mobster had taken great delight in introducing Ezra to a variety of eastern European methods of eliciting information from their enemies, it felt as if it had just happened. Standish still frequently awoke in the middle of the night, his body bathed in sweat and his throat raw from screaming from the painful memories. 

  


He’d never shared with any of his team the details of everything that had been done to him or how badly the whole affair had affected him. If he had, he doubted if they’d ever put him back in the field. Instead, he did as he’d always had; buried it as deeply as he could and covered it with a broad grin, big words and a lavish lifestyle. 

  


_ Would Vin be able to do the same?  _

  


_ “ _ With a shy smile, a soft twang and retreating to the mountains…” he whispered to himself.

  


Ezra determined that he’d be that support network. Welcome, wanted or not, he’d be there in the coming days, weeks and months when the inevitable demons began to haunt his young friend’s sleeping -  _ and even waking,  _ moments.

  


The smooth-tongued agent spared another look over to his captive friend, DeLeon still positioned behind the sagging Tanner, one hand wielding the blade held to Vin’s neck while another clenched the loose fabric of the black shroud tightly in his fist. 

  


Either due to pain or the thickness of the fabric, Vin’s chest was heaving with each breath he frantically tried to draw into his lungs. The black hood, so snuggly pulled against his face, seemed to detail every feature as he struggled to pull air through the heavy cloth. 

  


Ezra averted his gaze, unwilling and simply no longer able to watch the on-going torment being inflicted on his friend while not being able to do anything to stop it. He glanced over to JD and saw that their resident techie had also observed Vin’s situation and was more than a little affected. To his credit, JD remained on guard, his M4 tactical carbine at ready, his body tense in an offensive stance. One would have to look closer, at the hard set of his eyes, to see that their youngest team member was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

  


If JD was finding it hard not to reveal his concern, then Chris was his polar opposite. Nearly every aspect of their leader’s body language was screaming his frustration and fury. Although his face was a mask of calm and indifference, his eyes took on a hardened look, laser-focused on DeLeon and the knife he held to Vin’s neck. 

  


Ezra couldn’t recall ever seeing the SAC look so lethal. 

  


The minutes passed as though time had been purposely slowed just to antagonize them. The temptation to cast a look down at his watch was overwhelming but the conman knew it was a tell that would either divulge their nervousness or worse, accidentally make one of DeLeon’s goons trigger happy. 

  


Not one to usually feel so antsy, he couldn’t explain why he was suddenly on edge. Maybe because there was so much riding on this particular deal. But then, there usually was. There wasn’t anything _ that _ different about today compared to any of their other busts. Every time they set up a buy, one or more of them put their lives on the line. 

  


So why then did today feel so risky and desperate? 

  


Maybe it was because the threat to one of their own was so overt. But no, that wasn’t true. There had been countless times that one of their lives had been threatened and they each had managed to face the threat and come out on top; even if it was worse for the wear. Even Vin, who seemed to be the team poster child for injuries, had faced down the grim reaper more times than Ezra liked to recall, and persevered to come out the other side of the encounter ready to do battle again. 

  


Standish felt the contractions of a shiver course through his body. Maybe it was the threat of death and the shadow of the reaper just waiting to stake its claim after all that was setting him and the rest of the team on such a tremulous edge. 

  


The loud engine rumble of the M35 transport startled him as it approached through the entry gate, a cloud of dust rising up behind it. Ezra spared another quick look over to his captive teammate. DeLeon had yet to relent his hold and his expression was no less maniacal than it had been earlier. 

  


The truck came to a stop, the engine cutting off with a low gasp of exhaust. A moment later, the doors opened to both the driver and passenger sides revealing two large men. Buck jumped down from the big vehicle, dressed in ATF tactical gear and quickly scanning the scene before making eye contact with Chris. 

  


The other man was equally as big as the dark-haired agent but there the similarities ended. Well over six foot tall and built like a MMA fighter, the man who exited from the passenger side was clothed in military issue digi-camo. He wore upper body armor and carried a pistol in a holster at his hip that looked only slightly less lethal than the twin AR-57’s that were slung from both shoulders. 

  


Ezra immediately recognized George Webb, second in command for the Colorado Freeman,  but kept his expression neutral. He knew how this was to go down, he could only hope that it happened the way they all expected and planned for. 

  


_ Now, just to wait for the rest of the players… _ he silently commented. 

  


“Hey boss, somebody order the pizza’s with extra RPGs?” Buck joked as he stepped forward toward the group. 

  


Standish cringed. Wilmington’s attempt at humor was going to be lost on this bunch. 

  


“Where’s my ordinance, Larabee?” DeLeon hissed. “You’re wasting my time here. Or should I say, you’re wasting Agent Tanner’s time.” 

  


A soft cry emanated from beneath the obscuring hood as the gunrunner angled the big blade downward across Vin’s collarbone, slicing through the thin fabric of the pathetically thin shirt. Blood immediately welled up from the wound, satuarating the material and creating a red trail down his chest. 

  


“Godammit!” Chris screamed and shot forward. “We’ve got your shit right here you sadistic bastard.”

  


Ezra caught his leader as he was about to go by, his fingers snagging the webbing of Chris’ vest at the last moment and pulling him to a stop. 

  


“Not helping, Mr. Larabee…” he warned lowly. “Remember the larger objective…”

  


He could feel the muscles in Chris’ arm tense and release; hell, Larabee’s entire body was little more than one massive form coiled to strike. But he maintained his grip on the SAC’s bicep hoping to instill some semblance of restraint and prevent everything from turning into a bloodbath. 

  


Turning back to DeLeon, he took charge. 

  


“You ordinance is in the back of the military transport, Mr. DeLeon. If you would take but a moment away from brutalizing Mr.Tanner, we would be happy to confirm the inventory to you.” 

  


DeLeon held steady for a long moment, looking back and forth between Chris and Ezra. A few seconds passed and he stepped away from Vin, removing the blade from the sniper’s neck and handing it to one of the thugs stil restraining the failing agent. 

  


“Okay! Finally, someone that appreciates completing a business transaction in a professional manner,” the dark hispanic responded.  

  


Ezra bit back a snarky reply. As if this man had any clue about conducting business in any semblance of a professional or ethical manner.  Instead, he forced his usual mannerisms to portray a calm and suave demeanor in order to set DeLeon at ease. Let the psychotic criminal think that Larabee was unable to broker the deal. Distraction was their ally.

  


“Quite, Mr. DeLeon. There are those of us that possess certain skills and competencies more in line with conducting commerce,” Standish agreed, moving slowly toward the M35. 

  


As he casually made his way over to the large truck, Ezra nonchalantly allowed the twin Rugers to dangle from his grasp. They were within immediate reach, but he hoped it further conveyed to DeLeon that he was assuming the role of less threatening negotiator. From the corner of his eye, he could see the despicable villain begin to follow him towards the vehicle. Ezra couldn’t help the smirk that appeared but quickly schooled it away under his carefully crafted mask. 

  


“I believe you’ll note upon inspection that we have abided by your requirements - to the letter - for the exchange of our team member.” 

  


Ezra indicated to the rear of the cargo truck and motioned for Buck and Webb to open the heavy tailgate. They quickly did so, lowering the metal door before setting about to remove the heavy camouflage tarping that covered the back. 

  


DeLeon watched cautiously, his eyes narrowed as the men flipped back the coverings and then stepped away. With a wave of his hand, he motioned his own men in and two large hispanics ventured over. 

  


“You realize that I will have to verify the contents of those containers before our transaction can be fully concluded?” he demanded. 

  


“Of course, I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”

  


“And there’s the matter of final approval from  _ mi capo. _ He’s awaiting my signal any moment.”

  


Ezra swallowed nervously at the mention of the Sinaloa leader making an appearance. He resisted sparing a look back to Larabee but could almost feel a shared nervousness emanating from the Team 7 leader just a few feet away.   

  


“Well, despite the irregularity of that request, if it expedites the release of Mr. Tanner, then I see no reason to disallow your demand.”

  


DeLeon broke into laughter. “That’s wise of you, especially since it’s non-negotiable.”

  


Standish nodded in acquiescence, watching as the dark-haired man ordered his men to begin unloading the crates of ordinance from the truck. As they did so, he pulled a cell phone from the pocket of his suit and sent a short text message, seemingly satisfied when he received a quick reply back. 

  


“Ezra…” Larabee’s low growl conveyed warning and worry.

  


The seasoned undercover man waved off the concerned leader with the slightest flick of the fingers on his left hand. 

  


“We’re playing the hand we were dealt, Mr. Larabee,” he answered.

  


“Yeah, well, I’m not loving these odds,” Chris snapped back.

  


Ezra grinned. “Ah, Mr. Larabee, how soon you forget that I am a student of the speculative arts, but as I abhor gambling as such, I never leave anything to chance.” 

  


He thought he might have heard Chris snort in reply, but he chose to ignore it as two black Escalades with dark tinted windows sped into the warehouse lot. As the dust from the gravel settled, eight  men cautiously got out of the vehicles. All were armed except for one, who was well-dressed, his face partially obscured by the dark sunglasses covering his eyes. 

  


DeLeon rushed to greet the new arrival, seeming to fawn over the man like a teenage girl at a Justin Bieber concert. For his part, the younger Mexican seemed unimpressed and in that moment, Ezra assumed him to be the mysterious ‘ _ capo _ ’. 

  


“Ahem…”  He cleared his throat in an effort to draw their attention and resume the deal. “Are you prepared to now inspect the ordinance?”

  


DeLeon appeared more excited than a puppy. “Yes, yes… of course. Please open the crates. Mi’ Capo, Seňor Perez is representing Seňor Quintero and is very interested in what I have arranged.”

  


Ezra smiled broadly. “I’m sure we won’t disappoint him on your behalf.” 

  


He turned and motioned for Buck and Webb to begin removing the wooden tops to the first few containers that were randomly placed on the ground near the big military transport. As they did so, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder to Chris, Nathan and JD, offering his teammates a discrete nod and alerting them to be prepared. 

  


As the first few crates were opened, DeLeon excitedly approached, eager to see the contents inside. Gone was the cold, calculated criminal. Now, he was little more than an over-eager rich-kid, playing well out of his league considering the caliber of criminals and law enforcement surrounding him.

  


Standish watched as the former Denver businessman’s attention became focused on the large boxes of guns and other illegal military weapons. DeLeon barely noticed that Juan Carlos Perez had removed his dark sunglasses and was inching closer behind him, the  _ capo’s _ eyes narrowing as he appeared to be scrutinizing the two men working on the containers. Ezra noticed, and he discretely moved closer to Larabee in order to alert the SAC.

  


“Mr. Larabee, I believe it would be prudent to be on alert and prepared to take possession of Mr. Tanner,” the ex-Fibbie advised. 

  


Webb and Buck stepped back as the last crate was opened, both men retreating to the relative security of the rest of Team 7. They immediately re-armed themselves and took up defensive positions near the front of the M35. 

  


“So, Mr. DeLeon,” Ezra began. “As you can see, everything is in order, as demanded. We have met our end of the deal. Will you honor your part of the arrangement?”

  


DeLeon smiled, his eyes bright with excitement. He turned to face Perez, the younger Mexican now standing by the ordinance and looking angry.    
  


“Seňor Perez… May I present to you,  _ mi’ capo,  _ just a small gift as a beginning to a long relationship with Sinaloa?” DeLeon offered, nearly genuflecting as he waved his hand to indicate the cache of weapons displayed behind him. 

  


There was a long, uneasy silence filled only by the distant noise coming from the highway. No one moved, no one spoke and the short, pain-filled gasps coming from Vin stood out even more starkly amid the undisguised stillness. 

  


“Pendejo mutherfucker!” Perez erupted, turning on DeLeon and shattering the quiet  with his outburst. “What the hell have you done?”

  


Panic-stricken, DeLeon began backpedalling toward the safety of his own crew even as Perez’s men brought their own weapons to bear on the would-be gunrunner’s soldiers. 

  


“I...I d-don’t understand…” DeLeon stammered. 

  


Perez strode forward purposefully until he was mere inches from DeLeon’s face. 

  


“Eres un idiota! Do you not know who that man is?” he asked, jabbing a finger towards Webb. 

  


“ATF… he’s ATF like the rest of them. I got my weapons back…” DeLeon pleaded.

  


“You moron… he’s Freeman… these weapons are bought from Beltrãn-Leyva. Do you realize that you’ve traded weapons that BLO sold to the Freeman? Do you understand what position that puts Sinaloa when word gets back to Miguel Leyva?”

  


“But… I didn’t know… I didn’t… the weapons weren’t… wait… no…” DeLeon fumbled to explain but it was too late. His world was suddenly crashing down around him as the threat of a cartel war was being laid out at his feet.

  


“There’s only one way to fix this…” Perez announced, motioning to his men even as he was turning away from DeLeon. 

  


“No, wait… I have the ATF sniper for you… for the cartel… take him!” DeLeon begged, trying desperately to salvage something… anything.

  


Perez turned back and laughed. “ Ya tenemos tu hombre - we already have your undercover man.” He nodded to his seven armed associates even as he opened the passenger side door of the nearest SUV.

  


“Matarlos a todos- kill them all.”

  


Ezra could only stare in disbelief as he watched their plan come together and then disintegrate like so much tissue in a rainstorm. As Perez’s gunmen brought their weapons to bear, he reached for his own twin Ruger’s feeling the mini-14s  snap up into his hands; his fingers slipping onto the triggers smoothly without even looking. 

  


Behind him, he could hear Chris shouting out orders to the others, yelling at them to take up defensive positions and calling out targets, even ordering him to take cover. Diving behind two of the larger crates, Ezra chanced a quick peek even as DeLeon was scrambling to get away. His men were of little protection to the wannabe cartel member, most themselves looking for direction, realizing they had backed the wrong guy. 

  


The two that had been holding Vin released the sniper’s arms and Ezra saw the weakened agent wobble before his legs gave out and he dropped bonelessly to the ground. It was probably the best place for him to be because in the next moment all hell broke loose and Ezra flattened himself to the asphalt as small weapons fire broke open turning the afternoon into a scene from John Wick. 

  


Ezra felt as much as heard the bullets whiz past his head from both in front and behind him. He was effectively caught in the crossfire between his own team, Sinaloa shooters and DeLeon’s crew. But at least he had some semblance of cover. His thoughts went to Vin; exposed and blinded by the hood. The team sharpshooter was virtually helpless, unable to even defend himself, possibly not even alert enough to know what was happening around him. 

  


They hadn’t planned for this. But then, hadn’t they always expected it would come down to a bloody fight?

  


He just hoped one of them lived long enough to call EMS.

  
  
  
  
  


***M7***

  
  
  


Vin was suffocating. On the upside, the pain from the bullet wound in his leg and the more recent knife-slash across his upper chest, had dulled to little more than a bunch of ants chewing away at his flesh. The earlier red-hot fire that had accompanied the injuries had long gone away. 

  


Of course, hypoxia had a tendency of doing that. 

  


And really, he wasn’t totally sure if he was suffocating or just had reached that point of panic where he’d begun to breath so fast that he’d managed to deprive himself of enough oxygen to make it feel like he was dying. But then, did it really matter? Much longer with the thick, cloying bag over his head and he was going to be begging to die.

  


He couldn’t take much more of the claustrophobia, never having been one to handle close, confined spaces to begin with. The heavy fabric was clinging to his face, getting sucked into his nose and mouth every time he tried to draw in a breath no matter how deep or shallow. 

  


At first it was almost a welcome respite, a way to avoid seeing whatever new torture DeLeon had planned for him. Until Vin realized that it was perhaps the cruelest torment the criminal had inflicted yet. The hood blocking off his ability to see his team, even if it was one last time. 

  


The blackness that now surrounded him, accompanied by the inability to breathe, reminded him of those times when he woke in the hospital after surgery. Disconnected, uncoordinated, usually with a tube jammed down his throat and heavy medications coursing through his system. 

  


_ Right now, some good drugs didn’t sound like such a bad idea. _

  


He could hear Chris’ voice shouting orders not too far away. He’d heard Ezra speaking, trying to deal with DeLeon not too long ago, or hell, it could have been hours, he wasn’t really sure about how much time had passed since they’d first arrived. Both voices had given him some hope; bolstering him that his teammates were still alive. 

  


Now, gunfire was erupting all around him. DeLeon’s men had let go of his arms at some point. He didn’t have the energy to keep himself upright and had collapsed to the ground. But maybe that had been a good thing, seeing as how it sounded as though bullets were flying in every direction. 

  


If he could only get this fucking hood off…

  


Vin rolled to his side, drawing his legs up toward his chest, trying to make himself as small of a target as possible. It didn’t help much with his breathing, compressing his already battered abdomen and rib cage, but he supposed it was better than the alternative. He could hear the rapid fire rhythm of the automatic weapons and could tell the caliber and make just by the report. Taking a round from any of those autos at this close range would likely be fatal as some of the nearby cries of pain seemed to indicate. 

  


Fighting against the irrational desire to scream against the smothering hood, Vin knew he had to focus on getting free or getting to safety; preferably both. He refused to fall hostage to DeLeon once again.

  


Testing the bonds holding his wrists he felt some relief that DeLeon’s men had chosen to use flex cuffs instead of regular rope. Even better, his hands were tethered in front of him, giving him a good chance at snapping the plastic and freeing himself; assuming of course he could summon up the strength to do so. 

  


Vin straightened out his legs, forcing himself to draw in as deep a breath as the stifling bag would allow. Raising his arms above his head and ignoring the painful pull of the deep knife slash, he steadied himself before slamming his hands down against his hips. Thankfully, the thick band snapped on the first attempt.

  


Had it not been for the loud cover of the weapons fire going on all around him, Vin was sure that the hoarse cry that tore from his throat would have brought all the attention to him. As it was, he knew he needed to move quickly just in case someone decided he was a worthwhile target. 

  


Hampered by the warm, wet flow of blood now coating his wrists and hands from where the plastic had reopened the wounds from his earlier restraints, Vin slowly tugged the hated covering from his head. The bright sunlight blinded him, and he crimped already swollen eyes back shut. But the relief of feeling air on his face was sweeter than the softest kiss. 

  


He drank in the warmth, uncaring about the battle that was raging around him. He was free, no longer a prisoner in some dark, windowless prison, being tortured for no other reason than some maniac’s deviant pleasure. Vin didn’t really care what happened to him at this point. In his mind, he knew he wasn’t out of danger yet, but somehow it didn’t matter. Chris and the boys were here. He’d heard Chris’ voice, the tough team leader verbally sparring with DeLeon earlier. 

  


But then things had gotten fuzzy. 

  


The exhausted sharpshooter thought he’d heard Ezra speaking, maybe even Buck, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d clung to Chris’ voice like a lifeline, listening to the SAC trade threats back and forth with DeLeon had given him some sense of hope; at least until Larabee had acquiesced to the Mexican’s demands and agreed to trade him for the weapons. 

  


He’d never wanted that; never really thought that the government would allow the team to even consider a deal for him if it meant relinquishing military ordinance.  He certainly wasn’t worth it, his life didn’t come close to comparing the risk to that of the innocent civilians who would be at stake if DeLeon or the cartel got their hands on those weapons; even if Chris and the others would argue otherwise. He’d even considered trying to force DeLeon into taking him out. After all, a dead hostage wasn’t worth anything in a trade. Sure, Chris would have been downright homicidal with rage. But at least the RPGs and Stingers would remain off the street. 

  


Even now, there was no guarantee the end result wouldn’t be the same. He could barely see brief glimpses of JD and Josiah peeking out from behind the front of what was obviously a government issue Suburban. They were exchanging gunfire with men stationed opposite them across the lot and hidden behind a shiny, but now bullet-ridden Escalade. To their left, Vin could see Buck and another large man popping up from behind a huge military transport. He could only assume that it was what they had used to bring all the weapons to the meet. The sniper cringed at seeing a smear of red covering the side of Wilmington’s face and prayed that the big agent hadn’t been seriously injured. 

  


He heard Chris shouting and Larabee’s voice helped draw his eyes to the blond’s position. Under other circumstances, Vin might have laughed at the sight. Chris looked like a thinner version of Rambo, minus the bandana on his head. He stood there, nearly exposed in the open, only his lower body protected by one of the opened crates and was firing both his own M4 and what looked to be one of Ezra’s smaller mini-subs. He was yelling at the top of his lungs and for a moment, Tanner couldn’t quite make out what the older man was shouting. 

  


Crawling forward, desperate to reach his teammates and unconcerned about the risk to his own well-being, Vin only knew that sanctuary was fifty feet away and under the protection of six others who were fiercely fighting for their lives. 

  


Attempting to push up to his feet and make a mad dash to reach his team, Vin cried out in pain as his left leg refused to bear his weight. His hand strayed down to his thigh and the bullet wound there. The denim material was saturated with a sticky warmth and as he lifted his fingers back to his eyes he couldn’t immediately tell if the blood covering his hand was from the leg wound or the still bleeding flesh from his wrist. He supposed it didn’t matter, he knew that if he made it to the hospital the docs were going to have a field day cataloging all the things hurt on him. 

  


For now, his focus was backing up the six men he called brothers. He might not be strong enough to carry out his usual sniper skills, but Vin was damn sure he wasn’t going to let his team risk their lives for him without at least trying to help them get out of this mess. He certainly wasn’t going to let a few hurts get in the way of backing them up… someway. 

  


In agony, but no less determined, Vin pushed against the ground with his right leg even as he pulled himself forward by handfuls of loose gravel. He could feel the coarse material tearing at his chest through the fabric of the thin shirt but compared to all the other worse pains, it seemed like a minor annoyance. 

  


Slowly closing the distance, he encountered one of DeLeon’s men face down in front of him on the ground. From the dull gaze, Vin could tell the man was dead. Fortunately for the sharpshooter, the thug’s weapon lay near his outstretched arm. He inched closer, using the body for what little cover it would provide. Pulling the AR-15 A3 Tactical to him, Vin quickly checked the magazine before tucking the buttstock into his shoulder and thumbing the shot switch down to SEMI.  

  


The weapon was pretty standard, not like his customized Tac50, there were only the basic sights; but then, it hadn’t been made for his sort of work. Vin could manage; he had to. He’d done more with less before and under worse conditions. 

  


Taking as deep a breath as he could manage, the ATF sniper chose his targets. First order of business was to take care of the tangos that had Chris and the boys pinned down under a cross fire. Vin couldn’t tell who they were, but they were armed with AK’s and were shooting at the team and DeLeon’s men from behind the black Escalade. 

  


LIfting the weapon slightly, he sighted the first of the big cartel guys who thought he was safe hiding behind the driver’s side door of the big SUV. Vin’s first shot brought the drug runner to his knees as the bullet plowed through the man’s lower leg unprotected by the gap between the bottom of the door and the ground. As he lay there writhing, Tanner put his next into his chest, confident that the man was no longer a threat by the large blossom of red that spread out across his front. 

  


He turned next to another of the Sinaloa hitters that was visible through the distorted tint of both the front windshield and one of closed rear doors. It was a tough shot, not impossible for the marksman had he been one hundred percent and situated better. But as Vin steadied his weapon, he knew he had to get this guy. 

  


Once more he tapped into the training that was so ingrained it was as natural as breathing. Despite his less than normal vision, he could almost sense where the target was, could rely on trusting his years of handling weapons to know how the bullet would react once it left the barrel. Now, all he needed was for the target to cooperate and  _ hold … still… right… THERE! _

  


The report of the A3 seemed to stand out amongst all the other small arms fire, the 5.56 round piercing both windows before shattering the skull of the former Perez gunman. Vin caught only a glimpse of his handiwork before his recent efforts appeared to have drawn the attention of others. He flinched, drawing his body in tightly as several rounds caused the dead body at his side jerk as they made impact. He could feel the dirt and gravel getting tossed up as several more shots kicked up the surface of the parking lot around him. 

  


Lifting his head, he frantically sought out better cover. In that instance his eyes connected with Larabee’s, the blond having seen the headshot that took out the Sinaloa soldier and knowing it hadn’t come from one of the other five the SAC quickly recognized the source of that sort of precision. 

  


“VIN!” Chris shouted to him, his voice clear above the racket of the battle being waged. 

  


“C-C’ris…” Vin struggled to call back, his voice broken and weak from days of abuse and lack of water or food. 

  


Both men retracted as bullets nearly missed finding them. But neither was to be deterred after so long a separation. Vin rose up to one knee, ignoring that he presented himself an even easier target. He could only see that Chris had stepped out from around the crates that had been his cover and was about to make a run through the open space towards him. 

  


“C’ris… no…” Vin shouted a warning, pulling his weapon to his shoulder in order to cover his best friend. 

  


Larabee was picking targets with his M-4, seemingly ignorant or uncaring that he was running through a virtual killbox in his effort to reach Tanner. He skidded to a dead stop several feet away from Vin, his back propped against two metal barrels. 

  


“Vin… get your ass to cover,” Chris yelled at him. “I got your back…” 

  


Vin snorted as a hail of gunfire rained down on Larabee’s position. The steel drums became pock marked with holes and he could only pray that the metal had been strong enough to protect Chris from the bullets. 

  


Scooting backward, Tanner found some safety behind another set of small crates.  He couldn’t see Chris or any of the other Team 7 members from this position, but it provided him ample vantage to take aim on the few remaining men of DeLeon’s crew. 

  


“C’ris… jus’ keep yer head down…” he called back to his best friend before opening fire on the nearest of the shooters. Even though he took out one, it served only to draw their fire towards his position. 

  


Vin tried to return fire but the AR’s magazine hadn’t been fully loaded when he acquired the gun from the dead thug. Even being careful with his shots hadn’t spared enough ammunition to allow the sniper continue shooting. He ejected the magazine, checking it even though he knew he would find it empty. Angrily, he tossed the empty away from him and banged the AR against the ground in frustration. 

  


“C’ris… I’m out,” he yelled, immediately regretting having revealed that bit of intel to their opponents. 

  


“Goddammit, Tanner. Just keep your fucking head down. We didn’t go through all this just to get your scrawny ass shot up now,” Chris answered hotly, the stress showing in word choice.

  


Vin shrunk down even lower to the ground under the rebuke. 

  


“Josiah… Buck… can either of you move up?” He heard Larabee shout back to the other team members remaining under the cover of the big M35 and the team’s Suburban. 

  


“Buck’s out boss, Nate’s got him and Ezra. JD and I can work our way up between you and Vin.” Josiah’s deep voice answered back but Vin couldn’t quite tell where the big profiler was calling from. 

  


He listened as the gunfire continued to be exchanged. Peeking out, he tried to see where the rest of the team was located, daring a quick glance toward the steel drums to see if Larabee was still pinned down in the same spot. There were few places for cover between the big vehicles they’d used and the SUVs DeLeon’s crew had arrived in. A few random crates and containers provided the odd chance for cover and other than the huge stack of shipping containers several yards away, there was no highground or hiding place except for the distant warehouses themselves. 

  


There was no way for the guys to get to him, not without being completely exposed, and he was a sitting duck for any of DeLeon’s men who could work their way behind him. On top of everything, any semblance of adrenalin that might have been keeping him going had basically been drained out of his system now that he had stopped moving. 

  


He was done.

  


Vin felt used up. Not only had the week of captivity depleted him of his usual strength and endurance, but his body had been flat out broken; abused in ways that even he couldn’t ignore or simply brush off with a few ibuprofen and a hot shower. 

  


It was difficult for the usually tenacious young man to acknowledge any weakness or failure; he expected his body to respond when called upon and spent time making sure that it was always in shape to do so. Now, it wasn’t and no matter how frustrated or how hard he pushed it or begged it to respond; muscles, tendons and bones, simply could not. 

  


“Vin… Vin!” The exhausted sniper suddenly realized that he had drifted, his mental capacity as drained as his physical reserves.

  


“Vin!” The urgency and panic filling Chris’ voice pulled Vin more fully alert. “I’m comin’ to ya’.” It sounded as though the team leader was closer than before but he couldn’t be sure. 

  


Lifting his head carefully, blue eyes hampered by swollen lids and blurred vision strained to pick out the familiar face of his best friend. 

  


“Not go’n ‘nywhere…” Vin mumbled, his head sinking back to the ground. 

  


He’d been so close to giving up, times when the physical torture had become so severe that he neither wished for nor wanted the team to rescue him. Merely seeking an end to the pain and deprivation, Vin could only focus on taking the next painful breath. Still, he fought to hold on; struggling to survive, desperate to find some way to defeat DeLeon’s plans, and determined to protect his team from sacrificing their own lives for his.

  


But now, with the six men he called brothers so very close, and rescue more than a glimmer of hope, he was succumbing to his injuries. His body was failing, loss of blood and lack of care overwhelming fortitude, determination and sheer willpower. 

  


“Vin… comin’ to ya… sit tight…” Chris’ voice now sounded as though he was in a tunnel. There was another quick burst of gunfire, the dirt near the injured agent’s feet kicking up from the impact of several errant bullets. 

  


Vin flinched, his reaction delayed as he drew his legs closer to his body. The bullet wound in his thigh suddenly excruciating now that he wasn’t focused on defending his team. His hands scratched at the ground beneath him. Rough gravel tearing into his palms and fingertips, tearing away flesh that was already abraded and worn. His only thought was to try to pull himself towards the relative sanctuary of that familiar voice.

  


More random gunfire was exchange around him, but he couldn’t seem to focus enough to tell how close it was or even if it was an immediate threat. His vision blurring from exhaustion and injury, Vin let instinct drive what remained of his body’s energy to push himself forward a little further. Desperation compelling him to try to reach his team, to escape from the horror that he had been forced to endure for the past several days. They would protect him, would stop the pain.

  


“C’ris…” he called out weakly, unsure if he’d even spoken or if the cry to his best friend had merely been in his mind. He tried again, desperately willing air through his throat in an effort to reach Larabee. 

  


“C...C’r...riiisss…” 

  


His voice was as coarse as the rough gravel he was so frantically trying to crawl across. Yet like a beacon, his urgent plea was heard amid the chaos of the moment. 

  


“I’m coming Vin…” 

  


Three simple words filled him with hope. More than a promise, Vin knew with every fiber of his being that Chris Larabee would save him.

  


_ Or die trying himself... _

  


Collapsing flat to the ground, the broken agent lay there unable to do more than just force the air to move in and out of of his lungs. Even that seemed like a herculean effort and his body tried to convince his mind that it wasn’t worth the work. 

  


_ Don’t you give up, Tanner… _

  


Those earlier words of encouragement repeated in his head, Chris’ voice once more urging him to hang on.

  


“ ‘m try’n…” he whispered aloud in response. “... wait’n for ya’ C’ris…”

  


Vin sensed more than saw movement near him, the cast of a shadow blocking out the warming rays of the approaching noontime sun. He weakly raised his right arm, using his hand to block the sun so he could try to see. 

  


“C’..ris?” he called out feebly. Rendered nearly sightless from the bright sunlight and the abuse he’d suffered by DeLeon’s henchmen, Vin was left with little choice but to reach out blindly to the figure that towered above his prone body. 

  


The hand that grasped his felt smooth against his own calloused palm, the fingertips wrapping around his wrist almost delicate compared to his own scarred and battle worn extremity. He pulled away slightly, something suspiciously setting off alarms in his weakened and wearied mind. 

  


_ Not Chris!!!  _ It shouted to him in warning. 

  


“Ez???” Vin greeted cautiously. Surely this was their resident undercover man. The soft skin, the manicured nails left little doubt that it could be any of the others. 

  


The grip on his arm tightened as Vin was roughly pulled to his feet. He floundered, his left leg refusing to hold his weight while the rest of his body simply refused to summon the energy to remain upright. 

  


“Ez… where’s… C’ ris?” he grunted out. 

  


Another hand forcefully grabbed his other arm and drew his body up and back against a solid chest.

  


“Sorry Agent Tanner, but I’m afraid that your teammates simply are not going to save the day for you.”

  


Vin froze, his body going rigid with a combination of fear and dread. He struggled to pull away from the former businessman, desperate to escape as visions of another week of hell threatened. He strained to look around and in the blurred foreground could barely make out the forms of Chris, Josiah and JD. 

  


Summoning any bit of strength, Vin fought to tear loose from DeLeon’s grasp, yelling out to his best friend and leader.  “CHRIS!” 

  


DeLeon easily restrained the weakened agent, pulling him closer and wrapping his forearm underneath Vin’s chin. 

  


“Stop right there, Agent Larabee. Not another step or I will unload whatever remains in my weapon into Agent Tanner’s back.”

  


Vin could dimly hear Chris reply back with his own shouts, even heard Josiah’s deeper response and JD’s higher pitched pleas for his captor to stop. He could just see Chris now, the team leader slowly moving forward with his hands outstretched and open. 

  


DeLeon shifted, his arm tightening and constricting Vin’s throat. He gagged against the force but couldn’t move to relieve the pressure since the gun-runner pushed harder against his spine with the barrel of the small pistol he held against him from behind. 

  


“Now, this is what’s going to happen,” DeLeon began. “You three are going to reload those crates back into the truck. Then, you’re all going to move over by those containers while I take back my merchandise and Agent Tanner and I leave.”

  


Chris was shaking his head. “No, I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” he replied calmly. “We’ll be taking Vin with us now.”

  


DeLeon laughed nervously and Vin felt his grip loosen ever-so slightly.  

  


“Let me go now and I’ll drop Agent Tanner off once I’m safely away. Really, Larabee, you’ve destroyed my operation in Denver… most of my men are either laying dead or will be in your custody shortly. I merely wish a chance to start elsewhere… somewhere out of your domain.”

  


“You should have taken that chance when you got away from us the first time we took your operations down. You should have left Denver then. But you just had to try and play in the big leagues. Where you gonna go, Roberto? You’ll have Sinaloa  _ and  _ Beltran-Leyva hunting you after today. I’ll make sure of that. You should have never fucked with my team, DeLeon. You should have never hurt one of mine.”

  


Chris’ voice was low and lethal. When he spoke, his tone held a commanding air. To Vin’s weary and somewhat disoriented mind, he was sure that the blond looked bone-tired and worn, but there was no fatigue showing in the way he was standing up to the hispanic criminal. 

  
DeLeon laughed and began to step towards the big M35 dragging Vin backwards and along with him. 

  


“You think you’re so tough… all of you... so much better than anyone because you can hide behind your badges and your federal agency. You’re not though… we can get to any of you. We got Tanner. Just had to wait till he was separated from the rest of your pack of dogs… could’ve taken any of the rest of your precious team. We even took care of your other lackey. I bet you thought he was safe… undercover… gonna help you rescue Tanner here?”

  


“What did you do with him?” Chris demanded, slowly matching steps forward.

  


Vin heard his captor laugh again, this time his inflection taking on a more psychotic quality. 

  


“Let’s just say, I wouldn’t eat the chili off of any those roach coaches that frequent Lodo. You just never can tell what that mystery meat might be?” 

  


“You’re one sick bastard,” Larabee answered back in disgust. “But sick or not, you’re gonna pay for what you’ve done.”

  


They were still moving, albeit at a snail's pace thanks to Vin’s injuries and inability to be pulled any faster. DeLeon maintained his tight grip around the young agent’s neck, the automatic still pressed firmly against his back as they inched closer and closer towards a means of escape. 

  


Vin struggled to think of some way to break free, to provide Chris and his teammates some opportunity to take their prey down. Yet, the more he tried to slow their retreat, the more firmly DeLeon pulled against his throat, cutting off his ability to breathe. 

  


He could see Chris edging closer and from the corner of his eye, both Josiah and JD were also narrowing the gap, their guns drawn and aimed at his captor. 

  


“Ya’s… b-bet..ter… listen… ya’... wanna’... git’... out..ta’ this… ‘live…” Vin sputtered, his voice barely audible from the pressure of DeLeon’s arm. 

  


“They won’t hurt me… they won’t risk you,” the hated man leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “After everything they’ve done to get you back… they won’t risk losing you now.”

  


Vin feared that the despicable man was right; these men, these six brothers would stop at nothing to recover him, even if it meant risking their own lives. Tanner knew Chris wouldn’t think twice about taking a bullet if he thought it would buy his freedom and safety. 

  


As his mind whirled frantically, trying to find a way to get himself out of DeLeon’s grasp and keep Chris and the others from harm, Vin felt the pressure of the pistol move from his back. In the flash of a second, DeLeon had brought the weapon forward, aiming it directly at a defenseless Larabee who stood mere feet away. 

  


“Back off,” he warned. “I’ll put you down, take off with my weapons and Tanner and the rest of your team can start planning the funerals.”

  
“Told you before, you’re not taking Tanner…” Chris steadfastly answered. 

  


“C’ris… noooo” Vin cried out, terrified of losing his best friend. A shot at point-blank range would surely kill the blond. 

  


He felt DeLeon tense, was sure that the gunrunner was about to shoot, and Vin decided that it was now or never. Summoning any reserve of strength, he jabbed his right elbow backwards into his captor’s belly, briefly satisfied with the resulting grunt and whoosh of air. 

  


The arm around his throat only relented slightly. Not enough for him to pull free but enough for him to twist around so that he nearly faced DeLeon eye to eye. Behind him now, Vin could hear Chris yelling, it might have been at him, maybe at one of the others, most certainly at DeLeon. 

  


With both hands free, Vin tried to punch and jab at the DeLeon’s face and belly. But so weakened by injury and neglect, his attack was less than effective. With the weapon still in one hand, the big thug deflected the blows and managed to push the injured agent off him and to the ground. 

  


Vin landed at his feet and lay there panting, the air knocked out of him. He looked up to see the barrel of a 9mm pointed right at his head and knew that while he may have saved his friends, his own outcome was likely going to end where it had been headed all along. Boosting himself up slightly on his right hand, he offered his tormentor one last defiant glare that he hoped would have made Larabee proud and waited for the sound of the discharge. 

  


Instead, a cacophony of noise broke what seemed like an indefinite silence. The sound of multiple gunshots filled the air and Vin watched as DeLeon’s body jerked like a fish on the line, twisting this way and that before finally collapsing in a heap beside him. 

  


Silence returned and the wounded agent could do little more than stare blankly at the unmoving body at his feet. 

  


He wanted to kick him. Wanted to get up and stomp and kick and rage against this man who had spent the last week inflicting all manner of pain on him. Wanted to revive and hurt and brutalize DeLeon in the same ways or worse than he had been mistreated. Wanted to make him scream in pain and fear and submission. 

  


But it was over…

  


And he was exhausted beyond the point of caring about any of that right now. And there were hands reaching down to him, gentle hands that brought comfort and care. Hands that we’re familiar in their touch. And he was safe. 

  


Vin looked away from the bullet-ridden corpse and glanced up into several concerned, weary but relieved faces. Red-rimmed green eyes met his and a slow, silent nod was exchanged. 

  


“We got you…”

  


  


TBC... (not quite done yet...)


	9. Starting Recovery - Day 1

 

 

 

_ *** Starting Recovery - Day 1 *** _

  
  
  


Vin drew in a deep breath enjoying the feel of the cool fresh air on his exposed face. The rest of his body remained covered under layers of soft clothing and the fleecy warmth of the thick sherpa blanket Nathan had insisted he take with him out on the deck. 

 

The air was chilly, a slight breeze blowing down over the snow covered mountains keeping the temperature on the cooler side for a late spring day despite the bright sunshine in a near cloudless sky. It was a typical Denver day and for Vin, after a week and a half in the hospital, he couldn’t be more grateful. 

 

Snuggling into the cushions on the lounge chair, he fought back the groan that resulted from the flash of pain that seemed to erupt in his chest and spread like a wave throughout his body. His left leg was the last to join in, not wanting to be kept out of the symphony of discomfort plaguing the young agent and he snaked a hand under the blanket to help soothe some of the ache away. 

 

Closing his eyes, Vin waited until his body found equilibrium again, nerve endings and muscles calming as he laid still and gave his abused but healing form a moment to settle. As the pain drifted back to a manageable level, he reopened his eyes and allowed himself another long gaze at the nearby foothills that bordered the western edge of Chris’ ranch.

 

_ Soon… _ he thought to himself. Just a couple of weeks and he’d be back to roaming those woods and trails that brought him so much peace. A little more healing of his abused and injured body and he’d be able to go for rides on Peso or take a long hike, or better still, go climbing up at Black Canyon or Rifle Mountain. 

 

Still, laying here now on Chris’ back deck, soaking in the warmth of the bright midday sun, was a huge improvement compared to being stuck in the hospital. He supposed he couldn’t complain too much. At least this stay he hadn’t been laid up in ICU, medically induced into a coma or had tubes shoved down his throat - although, there’d been plenty of tubes shoved in other places he’d rather not think about.

 

The doctors had assured him that while the abuse and torture he’d suffered while held captive by DeLeon and his goons had been fairly severe, most of it wouldn’t have any significant lasting impairment. For that, he’d been relieved, and thankful. 

 

The bullet wound to his leg had missed his femur and other than tearing up muscle tissue, wouldn’t be too much of an issue. The long laceration to his collarbone ended up needing a couple dozen stitches but likewise was more a nuisance than anything. And despite the lingering cough from the nearly resolved pneumonia, mostly everything else was just a lot of sore muscles and general painful aches. Unless you counted that tiny little bleed they had to repair from taking one too many punches to his right kidney. 

 

But even that was healing up nicely. Even Nathan said so as he doled out the requisite handful of pills at scheduled intervals, and Vin took grudgingly. And if Nate wasn’t freaking out, then Vin supposed everything must all be okay. 

 

So now, it seemed that other than rest, and of course replacing all the fluids he’d lost from being severely dehydrated and malnourished, which it seemed that each of his teammates had personally taken as their mission to rectify, all was well on its way back to normal. 

 

Except it wasn’t. 

 

The smile that had just been gracing his face was slowly erased as Vin let the memories of that awful week invade his present state of mind. He’d been trying in vain to avoid all thoughts of his time spent as DeLeon’s captive, forcing himself to focus on the here and now and the safety and sanctuary of Chris’ peaceful ranch. But it wasn’t working. 

 

His doctors had recommended therapy, had even gone so far as sending in some shrink to speak with him after he had woke up screaming one night in the hospital and his nurse had to call for an order to sedate him. He supposed it probably wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t have come to and started swinging.

 

_ Poor thing didn’t deserve the shiner I give her…  _ Vin thought ruefully. 

 

And worse still, Larabee had been witness to his little “episode.” The blond had been holding his usual bedside vigil but hadn’t been fast enough or more likely, was just afraid of injuring his already horribly mistreated friend more by trying to restrain him. 

 

In the end, even Chris had borne the marks of Vin’s alarming nighttime action. It made it difficult for Vin to  look at his best friend every time he was near, knowing that he had been responsible for the now fading marks on Chris’ neck and forearms.

 

But here he was now, the first full day out of the hospital, if you didn’t count last night after getting discharged late in the afternoon and enduring the long ride out to the ranch. He’d basically collapsed on the couch in the den and had fallen asleep shortly after they’d arrived, waking up only to Buck’s soft call to eat. 

 

Josiah’s chili had never tasted so good and even half awake, he managed to polish off a full bowl with several biscuits and two full glasses of milk before Nathan warned him to take it easy and go slow. JD cleared away the dirtys even as Ezra appeared with a small dish of pudding. Vin accepted it with a broad grin, his mouth watering at the sight of the sweet desert.

 

Vin smiled again at the memory. Last evening had been the best medicine. Enjoying dinner with the other six, the conversation drifting between Buck’s upcoming date with the new receptionist from payroll to Josiah’s rat problem at the local soup kitchen and eventually to a discussion about the type of rims Ezra needed to replace when he purchased new tires for the Jag. It was a light-hearted and easy conversation, just the way it always was with these men, his brothers, and yet, it was awkward, nobody commenting about the stiff way that Ezra moved as he tried to help Josiah serve the chili. But then no one had said a word about how Buck was managing with one arm in a sling either. 

 

In fact, it was like everyone was going out of their way to avoid any mention about the gunfight with DeLeon and his men or about Vin’s abduction and subsequent captivity. Even Chris, who spoke so little to begin with, had reduced his vocabulary to a few single words of reply when one of the others sent the talk in his direction. 

 

It made Vin nervous, even more self-conscious than he’d already been since being in the hospital. He wasn’t sure if he’d done something wrong or if something else had happened that the others were holding back from telling him. Maybe they were only trying to be overprotective; it wouldn't have been the first time that the other six had basically circled the wagons around him and formed a protective net after he’d been wounded. 

 

He just couldn’t figure out why Chris was being so stand-offish. Usually by now, Larabee would have been in full-on mother hen mode, tucking him in, forcing him to take his medications, admonishing him to take it easy, and just basically watching and worrying over his every move and breath. 

 

But after nearly 24 hours, Chris had been surprisingly absent. Oh, Vin knew he was still around in the house. And he likewise knew - could actually  _ feel _ , the older man watching him when he wasn’t looking. Yet the usual contact and communication between them was sorely absent. 

 

His smile disappeared once more, replaced by a sad, downcast look that even the bright sunshine couldn’t improve. Vin squirmed slightly and winced as pain flared once again, his eyes crimping tightly and making his mouth curl up in a grimace that barely held back a soft groan. 

 

“Probably be easier on ya’ if you were laying on a soft bed instead of that wood lounge chair.” Chris’ voice suddenly called out from behind him surprising the long-haired man. 

 

Vin moved more slowly, twisting his head to the side and opening his eyes enough to take in the tall, dark figure towering over him. He offered up a wry grin, lifting his right arm to shield his eyes.

 

“Ya’ ain’t got any sun coming in on my side of the house,” he complained in reply. “And sides’, ya’ ain’t taken down your winter storm windows yet… so cain’t even open ‘em up to get any fresh air. ‘Bout like being back in that damn hospital… all stale and closed in.”

 

“You’re supposed to be resting… recovering… letting that kidney and those broken ribs heal. Replenishing all the fluids you lost. Takin’ it easy… Any of that sound familiar?”

 

“Maybe… kinda remember somethin’ ‘bout a concussion and possible mem’ry loss… might have som’thin’ to do with that,” Vin joked back. 

 

Chris loosed a quick chuckle at that and shook his head. “You’re something else, Tanner.”

 

“What?” Vin asked, his voice pitching higher as he feigned disbelief. 

 

The black-clad blond merely shook his head once again and sighed. 

 

“You haven’t said ten words in the whole time you were in the hospital and now you bitch about there not being any sun or air in your bedroom? Don’t get me wrong, it’s good to finally hear you talking cause’ honestly pard, I was gettin’ worried.”

 

Vin’s eyes narrowed as he took in Chris’ words. What did the older man mean by saying he wasn’t talking? And why was Chris worried? If anything it should be him that was concerned about Larabee and all the rest of his friends. They were the ones running around with the sudden case of muteness. 

 

He snorted and shook his head before speaking. “Not sure you’ve got it right, Larabee… seems like it’s been y’all that’s been walkin’ on eggshells a late… ev’ryone actin’ like they’s afraid to say somethin’ to me like I might break apart or too fragile t’ handle anythin’.”

 

He watched as Chris became serious, his eyes taking on a glassiness that threatened tears. He shuffled almost nervously from one foot to another before spotting a nearby adirondack chair and pulling it over and dropping down on the front edge. 

 

“Vin, we need to talk…” he began, raising a hand when Vin started to object. “No… just listen to me for a moment before you blow me off or insist that everything is okay.”

 

Tanner quieted, his hands moving to fidget apprehensively at the edges of the blanket. Chris was deadpan sincere, the look he usually reserved right before he was either going to chew someone’s ass out or break bad news. Either way, Vin felt certain it wasn’t about to be pleasant. 

 

“Yeah… okay… go ahead,” he acquiesced, feeling his stomach starting to knot.

 

He watched with growing dread as Chris looked to consider his next words before immediately speaking. 

 

“What exactly do you remember about being in the hospital?” Larabee asked initially. 

 

Vin considered the question for a moment. Why was Chris asking him this? Had something bad happened that he didn’t know about or didn’t remember? Surely it couldn’t be too serious since all the guys were here and seemed okay. He’d  been discharged with relatively little fanfare so it must not be anything to do with his injuries. 

 

He thought back to the past week or so. Nothing immediately came to mind beyond the usual monotony of medical personnel traipsing in and out of his hospital room on a regular basis, everyone poking or prodding at him, asking him how he was feeling or wanting to know what he needed. 

 

Of course the guys were a regular memory too. While he couldn’t recall the first couple of days, assuming that had to do with his post-surgical recovery and just being flat worn to the bone from the abuse and neglect he’d suffered the week prior, he did remember that at least one of the six was at his side nearly every waking moment once he came out from the surgery. 

 

And of course, Chris was a near constant fixture. Rarely a moment passed that the lean blond wasn’t present when he was awake. Vin supposed he wouldn’t have known if Larabee had left while he was asleep and considering that Chris had on different clothes, he figured there must’ve been a few times his friend had taken off to shower and catch some sleep for himself. And if Chris had left, then there must not have been anything too awful going on… _ right? _

 

Even so, Vin couldn’t help the nagging feeling of dread that was filling him as he looked up and met his best friend’s concerned gaze. 

 

“I guess I just remember the usual,” he offered tentatively. “You know… bunch of docs and nurses comin’ and goin’... always pokin’ at me… you n’ the boys always bein’ there wi’ me… bad food o’ course…” 

 

Chris matched his brief chuckle at the last comment but it quickly faded away and Vin knew there was something else that he was missing. Something that Chris was reluctant to tell him. 

 

He waited, watching as Chris seemed to struggle over how he was going to break some sort of awful news to him. Swallowing thickly, Vin could feel the tension pouring off the older man.

 

“Whatever it is… just spit it out Larabee…” he quietly demanded, his breathing picking up as his anxiety increased. “Not doin’ either of us any good to be sittin’ on whatever it is your holdin’ back.”

 

Chris glanced down at his hands so tightly folded together there between his knees and drew in a long breath before he finally spoke. 

 

“Vin… how many days do you actually remember being in the hospital?”

 

The young agent blinked in confusion as he considered the question. 

 

“Y’all said I was there a bit more n’ a week… rescued me from that bastard on Friday, got released yesterday, which was Wednesday… today’s Thursday… right? So pushin’ on two… maybe?”

 

Larabee was shaking his head. “No Vin… I’m not asking you what you’ve heard everyone tell you… I’m asking you how many of those days do  _ you _ actually remember anything about? How many do you remember eatin’ breakfast or dinner? Or do you remember which days that me or one of the guys came up to see you? Specific things on specific days? That’s what I’m talking about…”

 

Even more puzzled now by the oddity of the question Vin could only stare back at his friend and the stark seriousness on Chris’ face. He knew there was something behind Larabee’s odd questioning, he just didn’t know what. 

 

Concentrating, he tried to think back over the past week. Closing his eyes, vague snippets of memory flashed like quick movie trailers. He could hazily recall images of a petite brunette nurse with a warm smile coming and going as she took his vitals or injected things into his IV. In other instances, he saw one or the other of his teammates standing or seated by his bedside, sometimes speaking to him, other times just sitting quietly or doing something on their phones. 

 

He was sure he remembered trays coming and going with disgusting looking bowls of bland flavored broth and plain flavored jello or other non-descript foods. He couldn’t really recall actually eating any of the tasteless offerings but then a flash of recollection seemed to create a picture of Chris spooning something like oatmeal into his mouth. 

 

Vin shook his head, opening his eyes to stare back up at his best friend. Nothing made sense. He couldn’t really call up any specific day other than perhaps yesterday when he was discharged. Sure, there seemed to be some brief snatches here and there, but nothing was distinct, no whole day came to mind. It was almost as if he’d been drugged and everything about his time in the hospital was an enormous blur. 

 

“What happened to me?” he asked, his voice weak with fear. 

 

Chris sighed deeply and his hands that been so tightly clenched together were now apart as one came up to run through tousled blond hair. 

 

“Do you need something to drink?” he asked, obviously stalling but equally concerned about the mental and physical health of the injured young man.

 

“No dammit’!” Vin snapped back. “Please Chris… just  get on with it. Did I do something? Did I hurt someone? Tell me…”

 

“Okay… okay… Vin. I’m sorry. I’ve just been so worried.”

 

Vin fumbled more with the blanket, his fingers nervously pulling at the fluffy pieces of lambs wool. His mind was racing in anticipation of what Chris was about to reveal, conjuring all manner of horrible acts he might have committed. 

 

“Vin, you don’t remember the past several days because the doctors basically kept you sedated the entire time you were in there… and when you weren’t medicated… well… you were pretty much… well… you were catatonic.”

 

The injured man looked up in disbelief. How could that be? He remembered things from being in the hospital. He knew he had interacted with the doctors and nurses; had talked with Buck and JD and Ezra when they had visited. How could he have been catatonic? And why would they have had to sedate him? It didn’t make sense.

 

“I don’t understand…” 

 

“The first night after surgery… you came to from the anesthesia and you just started screaming, lashing out, no one could get near you, touch you… it was like you thought DeLeon still had you. You weren’t here with us… you were still back there with him and his crew… and you thought they were still hurting you,” Chris explained. 

 

Vin recalled that. Throwing punches, accidentally hitting the pretty, brown-haired nurse, hitting Chris… but those were just flashes of memory. He wasn’t crazy, he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. 

 

“We couldn’t get you to calm down… I couldn’t get you to calm down,” Chris continued. “So they sedated you. And we thought that was the end of it. The surgeon just blamed it on the combination of medications they used during surgery and anesthesia. The only problem was, every time you woke up, it was the same thing. You were back there… with DeLeon… reliving all the horrible things he’d done to you… fighting back.”

 

Vin was crushed. He couldn’t remember behaving as Chris suggested he had and yet he knew his best friend wasn’t lying. He glanced down at his hands, now lying open on his lap. His hands and knuckles weren’t bruised but he could feel a slight tenderness that reinforced the veracity of Chris’ words. 

 

“I wouldn’t …” he softly pled. 

 

“It wasn’t your fault, pard… you didn’t know what you were doing. And you didn’t hurt anyone… That’s why the docs kept you sedated. I guess after the third time they just figured it was safer for you even… to keep you quiet and make sure you didn’t hurt yourself. But even then, they couldn’t keep you under all they time, so gradually, they eased up on the medications and tried some other stuff… problem was, then you just stopped reacting at all… you didn’t talk… you didn’t make eye contact… it was like you weren’t even in there.” 

 

Vin ran his hand through his hair, only barely restraining himself from roughly tugging on the long untamed tressed. “What’s wrong with me?” He caught the grimace Chris couldn’t manage to hide. 

 

“You were tortured Vin… held captive and hurt for no other reason than DeLeon was a sick bastard that got off on watching someone be physically and mentally abused. You survived whatever hell that fucking prick put you through for seven long days… and I’m pretty sure, knowing you, that you managed to give it back to him and his goons for most of it… didn’t you?”

 

Vin answered with a weak smile. 

 

“Yeah, I’m sure you did. Can just picture that smartass mouth of yours drove DeLeon crazy until he found even worse and more painful ways to beat your ass into submission… probably even then, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.”

 

“ ‘Had a vein that throb’d a bit like you do…” Vin joked but quickly became sullen once again. 

 

There was a long moment of silence as Vin’s mind wrapped itself around all that Chris had told him. For his part, Chris merely sat and watched his friend quietly. 

 

“I’m all messed up… ain’t I?” He asked sullenly, almost afraid of the answer, a lone tear trickling down his cheek. 

 

Chris was shaking his head even as Vin was finishing the question. 

 

“You were hurt… tortured… we can only guess at what all they did to you and I’m not asking unless you feel like tellin’. No one expects you to come out of that without needin’ a bit of help. And I’m here to tell ya’, I’ll do anything to help ya’, Vin… I was just so scared… the way you were before… I thought we’d lost you… I thought I’d lost my best friend...all over again.”

 

He heard the words, even vaguely absorbed the sentiment behind them, but Vin was fast sinking into despair. Here he’d been thinking that the nightmare was behind him when all along he’d just been fooling himself. He’d just been some mental case that Chris and the others thought was so far damaged they might not get him back. 

 

_ And maybe they hadn’t… _ Vin admitted.

 

“Hey… look at me!” Chris gently commanded as Vin felt him lightly place a hand on his shoulder. 

 

He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact. His emotions were in turmoil as his mind was swept up in a myriad of memories and emotions. Guilt and shame battled away with pain, humiliation and confusion. He didn’t trust what he thought he knew and worse, couldn’t rely on his own head to reassure him that what he thought he knew and remembered was actually true. 

 

And then there was Chris. 

 

Vin hated that the one person he so desperately relied on, had spent countless hours silently praying would come and save him and yet feared that in fact, both he might and might not, was now telling him that after exhausting all efforts to reclaim him from the clutches of a manic that maybe it had all been for nothing. Maybe the damage had been done and he was a lost cause?

 

All the training, all the time spent in SERE, even the months he’d spent as a lone sniper; none of that had been able to prepare him for what he’d been subjected to by Roberto DeLeon. He was weak… worthless after all. 

 

“Vin… hey… don’t do this… don’t leave me again…”

 

_ Leave again? _ His mind answered.  _ Don’t think I was ever back… _

 

Larabee was shaking him now. Not very forcefully, but enough that it hurt, and Vin gasped aloud. His eyes flew open and Chris was in front of him, straddled across the lounge chair, nearly astride his lap. His hands were on both of Vin’s shoulders, his grip firm but not rough as he held onto the top of his arms. 

 

But it was Chris’ face that really caught Vin’s attention. No longer did the ATF leader look as though he was about to bear bad news or rip someone a new ass. The seriousness of earlier was replaced by fear, an expression rarely if ever noted on Larabee. 

 

His green eyes were wide and expressive, and he looked as though he was bordering on panic himself. 

 

“Vin… please!” he begged. 

 

The sharpshooter blinked owlishly and reached up with his uninjured hand to clasp the forearm of his best friend. 

 

“I’m sorry…” he softly squeaked out. 

 

Chris paused, but he didn’t move, didn’t release his grasp. 

 

“You have nothing to be sorry about, pard. Just don’t shut me out… okay. Talk to me… keep talking to me…”

 

Vin wasn’t sure what to say. 

 

“I… I don’ know…”

 

“It’s okay… take it easy… just breathe… We’ll get through this together... I just can’t lose you again… I won’t lose you again, Vin. No matter what it takes. You have to understand… that first week that you were gone… I thought I would die… getting that tape and seeing what they had done to you… not knowing if you were still alive or if we’d even get you back before DeLeon sold you off to the cartel. There’s so much you don’t know about what happened while you were gone…”

 

Vin watched as Chris moved away and slumped down to sit on the edge of the lounger. He looked wiped out and Vin was certain that his ordeal had taken a toll on Chris and the others nearly as much as it had on him. 

 

“I was staring down into that dark abyss again… not sure if any of the guys were doin’ much better and I sure as hell wasn’t there for Buck or Ez or any of them. Seemed like things were blowin’ up in our faces at every turn… and all I could think was that I’d let you down… failed you.” 

 

Chris paused and Vin could only sit and absorb the powerful emotion held in his best friend’s recitation. 

 

“Then, even after we got you back… you were in such bad shape. You were hurt in so many ways and even though the docs thought you’d recover… when everything happened that night after surgery… well, it was almost like I lost you all over again. The worst part of all this is I feel like it never should have happened in the first place.”

 

That brought his head up and he looked at the stalwart team leader with an expression of shock. 

 

“What’re ya’ talkin’ about? Ya’ couldn’t have known this was gonna’ happen,” Vin insisted. 

 

“No? I should’ve been  alert to the possibility that DeLeon would have tried something. I should have watched out over all of you men… we knew he wouldn’t lie low, especially after we busted him and took most of his weapons. Hell, Josiah profiled him prior to Ezra and Nathan going under. We knew he wanted to move up in the underworld… the cartel made sense.”

 

“Yeah, but you never knew he would try for one of us… no one would’a thought he was that batshit crazy… or that he was into torture n’ tryin’ to impress Sinaloa.” 

 

Chris shook his head. Vin pressed on, unaccepting that his friend would be willing to shoulder the responsibility or worse - guilt - for what had happened to him. 

 

“This ain’t your fault, Chris. No way in hell… and no matter what happens to me… no matter how fucked up I am from all this… the one thing that’s for sure is I wouldn’t have ever a’ made it out of that place if it hadn’t been for you.”

 

Larabee snorted in denial. “I wasn’t at that warehouse by myself, Vin. And if you care to read the autopsy report… wasn’t even my bullet that proved fatal for DeLeon.”

 

“Not what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Yeah… I mean I’m forever grateful to y’all for savin’ my ass from that bastard… but I’m talkin’ ‘bout before then… when he had me and was beat’n and hurtin’ on me.”

 

Vin saw the confusion on Chris’ face and he continued on. 

 

“He had his men do some pretty awful things… mostly just beat on me till they couldn’t anymore. But after a while when that didn’t make me yell or scream, ol’ Robbie got more creative. He took a few pages out of Gitmo’s book… had a guy who was pretty good at the torture game…”

 

Chris choked back a gasp and Vin glanced up in time to see his friend’s face pale slightly. 

 

“What are we talking about here, Vin?” the blond asked apprehensively. 

 

Vin debated revealing the specific details. It wouldn’t help him to relive the nightmare and it certainly wouldn’t make Chris feel any better to learn what Vin had endured. Still, he knew if he didn’t tell, the determined man would just be driven to mad lengths, his imagination only filling in the blanks with all sorts of horrors. 

 

“They started with their version of waterboarding… weren’t the first time I’d had it done to me… thought I’d be able to take it… but I was so thirsty and it didn’t help that they just kept on wailin’ on my ribs and guts…” Vin chuckled and then added. “Guess I got the last laugh… I puked all over Robbie’s fancy shoes… boy was he pissed.”

 

It made Chris grin, if only briefly before his face once more turned cold with an expression mixed of anger and guilt. 

 

“What else did they do to ya’, Vin?”

 

He shook his head, not wanting to reveal more of the details, knowing that Chris would only used the information to punish himself even further. 

 

“No… doesn’t matter no more…”

 

“But it does! If you’re gonna get past this… if I’m gonna be able to help you… it’s gotta come out. You can’t bury it inside… it’s just gonna keep eatin’ away at you, Vin. Havin’ you wake up screamin’... so torn up inside that you can’t function… what happens when the stress is just too much and you…”

 

Vin glared back, his eyes flashing blue depths filled with incredulity. How could Chris think that of him. Did his best friend really believe that he was so mentality broken that he’d consider… 

 

“What… say it Chris… you think I’ll eat a bullet?” he snapped back. “You really think I’m that messed up then?” Vin threw back the blanket that covered him and pushed himself out of the lounge chair, ignoring his body’s sharp reminders of pain as he rose to his feet. 

 

Anger and denial forced his feet to carry him, albeit slower than usual, over to the edge of the deck where he leaned against the railing, one hand gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white from the stress. He heard Chris’ approach as the the older man came to stand beside him, their shoulders brushing against one anothers. 

 

Vin considered pulling away, but in truth, he wanted the contact, needed it actually. Despite his bitter response, he was mere seconds from falling apart. His heart was hammering inside his chest and it was taking everything he had to keep his breathing from turning into ragged gasps. His lungs were burning and for a moment, it was almost as if he were suffocating under that damnable black hood… or being drowned under a deluge of water. 

 

“I’m sorry…” Chris began. “This wasn’t how I wanted this to go. I only want to help you… whatever you need… however I can.”

 

His whole body was shaking and not just from muscles that were protesting the pain and inability to continue holding him upright. Mentally, Vin was giving in, his physical weakness making him even more unable to withstand the psychological onslaught of everything he’d learned this afternoon. Part of him wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and just let the world go on without him. He wanted so desperately to forget, to put everything behind him like it had never happened. But deep down he knew that could never be. 

 

Still, another part of him just wanted to scream and rage and lash out at the world. He was sick of being Life’s punching bag, always feeling as though if there was someone to get beat on, he was the one wearing the sign that said “right here.” He’d dealt with it as a child and here he was dealing with it as an adult once again. He’d never asked to be the sacrificial lamb, always taking the hits, and yet somehow he was the one always standing in front of the bullets or stepping up to prevent another from being hurt. 

 

_ Because you’d rather it be you than any of them…  _

 

_ Because you couldn’t live with yourself if one of them got hurt or worse… _

 

_ Because nothing that DeLeon or anyone could do to you would EVER be worse than the guilt that would consume you if one of them should fall… _

 

He felt Chris’ arm drape around his shoulder, holding him and supporting him both physically and emotionally. Vin let himself sink into the strong comfort that arm provided. He drew in a calming breath, letting it settle the almost painful emotions that had been threatening to erupt and even leaned slightly towards Chris. 

 

“The last day, maybe it was longer…” he began, his voice still shaking with emotion. “It was pretty hard to tell time there ya’ know … But, he had this little fella… was real sharp with using ropes and such. After the time with water, they nearly drowned me, had me beggin’ at one point to stop… course then, after I chucked on DeLeon’s shoes, he brought in this guy, Dante’. Musta’ passed out cause’ I woke up and he had me tied worse than a prize calf at the rodeo. Military calls ‘em stress positions… and this bastard was good at ‘em. Wasn’t too bad at first… jus’ uncomfortable. But then, he’d add more ropes, pull ‘em tighter, make it so I couldn’t move my head, or take a deep breath or even twitch my fingers.”

 

Vin heard Chris draw in a sharp breath and felt his arm pull him snugger ever so slightly.

“I was just so tired and hurtin’ by this point. Not really sure how long I’d been there… like I said, was no way in tellin’... and I’s so tied up that parts of me couldn’t even feel no more… thought I was gonna’ lose ‘em if I even made it out…” he continued, struggling to recount the experience, even then phantoms of pain reminding him of the agony he’d suffered while being held trussed up in the torturous position. 

 

“And DeLeon, he never let up… always threatenin’ that you and the boys wouldn’t save me… couldn’t...that he was gonna give me over to the cartel… even had his men comin’ in and threatenin’ to do all sorts of other bad thins’...” Vin felt Chris’ entire body go rigid with his last comment, knowing what he hadn’t said only hid the horror of what had likely been inflicted. 

 

“But I  _ knew _ you were comin’... could hear ya’... in here…” Vin quickly continued, reaching up and tapping a finger to his temple. “And in here” He repeated the gesture by patting his chest. 

 

“Your voice was clear as a bell… tellin’ me to hang on… to not give up… no matter what.” 

 

Vin turned his head to look at his best friend, forcing the eye contact. 

 

“I couldn’t… wouldn’t have made it without  _ you _ , Chris…”

 

Larabee’s green eyes were misty with emotion as he returned Vin’s gaze. He looked as though he wanted to speak, his mouth opening but no words coming forth. 

 

“And I know… no matter how messed up I am now… no matter what’s gonna happen today or tomorrow or next week… You’re gonna be here… tellin’ me to hang on… to not give up, no matter what…”

 

Chris’ arm pulled Vin’s unresisting frame around so that the he was facing the slightly taller blond. The young sniper could see that the older man was smiling now, emotion not filled with laughter but perhaps more that of relief and the beginnings of his own healing. Vin wasn’t there yet himself, not even close, but he’d made the first step.

 

“You---never---have---to---doubt---that!” Larabee spoke succinctly, each word punctuated so that Vin couldn’t help but understand the pledge being made.

 

“I gotta believe it,” Vin replied back, “It’s what keeps me grounded… keeps me… _ here _ .”

 

Chris pulled him tight, nearly holding all his weight as Vin let himself sag against the strength and security that his best friend offered. 

 

“This will always be here for you, Vin. I’ll always be here…”

 

Vin closed his eyes and let his mind drift. This time images of hiking trails through the mountains, of relaxing rides atop Peso and beside Chris on Pony, and of humor-filled Friday nights at the Saloon with the guys came as welcome memories. He knew it would take time, likely quite a while, to erase the damage done. But unlike his days in captivity, he wasn’t alone. 

  
  


He’d never be alone again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


* _ finis* _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those last two chapters had quite a few rewrites and edits... could never get the voices or action just the way I wanted and then I noticed I screwed up the timeline and had to fix that or well suffice it to say that the team would have been rescuing Vin a day earlier than DeLeon showed up to the meet... crap happens... And of course this last bit just wouldn't leave me alone... not angsty/too angsty... pre-slashy... hell, I knew what I wanted to convey and I'm not sure I ever did... needed Chris and Vin to both clear the air and admit they both were going to have scars over this one. In the end... it just seemed like all I wrote was a guilt-laden kleenex-fest (not what I intended) instead of two best friends glad they were both still alive. Guess y'all will be the judge of that... 
> 
> Well, that's it... I hope those of you that stuck it out enjoyed the story. Thank you to everyone that left Kudos or a comment - or just clicked through. I'm a very slow writer, (probably because I agonize over every word as you can tell from above) but I hope to be back soon with something else.


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